Southern Song

A Cerridwen Press Publication www.cerridwenpress.com

Southern Song ISBN #1-4199-0259-8 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Southern Song Copyright© 2005 Rosemary Laurey Edited by: Mary Moran Cover art by: Syneca Electronic book Publication: June 2005

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Cerridwen Press, 1056 Home Avenue, Akron, OH 44310-3502. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously. Cerridwen Press is an imprint of Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.®

SOUTHERN SONG

Rosemary Laurey

Trademarks Acknowledgement The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Burberry raincoat: Burberry Limited Corporation Volvo: Volvo Trademark Holding AB Corporation Sweden Coke: The Coca-Cola Company Formica: The Diller Corporation Burger King: Burger King Brands, Inc. Barbie doll: Mattel, Inc. Armagnac: Sempe S.A. Corporation France Lean Cuisine: Societe des Produits Nestle S.A. Corporation Mercedes: Daimler Chrysler AG Corporation Jaguar: Jaguar Cars Limited Karmann Ghia: KGPR Inc. Ford: Ford Motor Company K-mart: Millyon Marketing Concepts Popsicle: Lipton Investments, Inc. Cadillac: General Motors Corporation Chevy Trucks: General Motors Corporation Godvia Chocolates: Godiva Brands, Inc. The Beatles: Apple Corps Limited Jell-O: Kraft Foods Holdings, Inc. Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade: Federated Department Stores, Inc. Styrofoam: The Dow Chemical Company Doc Marten: Dr. Martens International Trading GmbH Corporation Tia Maria: Tia Maria Limited Corporation The Orange Bowl: The Orange Bowl Committee, Inc. Polo Sport: PRL USA Holdings, Inc. Oscar the Grouch: Muppets, Inc. Perrier: Nestle Waters Ltd Liab Happy Days: Paramount Pictures Corporation Shell: Shell Trademark Management B.V. Corporation House Beautiful: Hearst Communications, Inc. Southern Comfort: Southern Comfort Properties, Inc

Chapter One A scrape. A swish. Silence. Cold goose bumps prickled Mike Hartman’s neck before he opened his eyes. He lay under the tangled sheets, thinking fast. He’d been sleeping lightly. His head ached from the air conditioning. Tension over his job interview tomorrow rippled through his dreams. And an uninvited someone padded across his room. Mike peered toward the foot of his bed. The intruder was slight, youthful and about to leave with the better part of Mike’s belongings. Mike sat bolt upright, staring at the silhouette in the darkness, his heart beating with the tempo of steel drums. “Stay right there or I’ll shoot,” a teenager’s half-broken voice threatened. Mike’s body froze but his mind worked at Mach speed. This sort of thing wasn’t supposed to happen in small towns. Trust the luck of the Hartmans. He’d been here barely six hours and was already getting robbed. Mike had learned caution with guns. He didn’t move until he noticed his Burberry slung over the intruder’s arm, then emotion overtook reason. Andrea had picked that raincoat out in the London sales on their honeymoon. No living creature was taking it from him. A wild leap from the end of the bed, an echoing shriek, and Mike had the satisfaction of seeing the intruder drop the bags and flee. Heart pounding and adrenaline coursing, Mike broad-jumped over the fallen bags and pursued his raincoat down the night corridors. He’d die before a thief got away with that raincoat, his talisman, his security blanket. “Hey! Hush it will you?” Indignant sounds came from closed doors as Mike’s yells shattered the night quiet. By now he’d cornered the thief at the elevators. They tussled over the disputed garment, screaming abuse at each other, pulling and yanking in a furious tug-of-war. A cheaper raincoat would have ripped in two. “Let go!” the youth demanded, adding a nasty suggestion implying Mike enjoyed an unnatural relationship with his mother. “Hand it back or I’ll splatter your brains,” Mike promised, adding a few caustic comments about the youth’s parentage. A door opened. Mike glanced sideways. A middle-aged man in a paisley robe gaped at the scene in the hallway, then disappeared, slamming his door before Mike could yell for help. Mike grimaced. So much for people in a small town getting involved. They could have squabbled until dawn, neither prepared to relinquish his hold. But before they roused the entire floor, help arrived. The elevator doors opened and two security guards stepped out. The situation didn’t need explanation. One guard, the younger of the two, produced handcuffs, giving the youth a swift and well-aimed shove in his back when he resisted. Mike watched her, mesmerized. Her auburn hair fell forward as she whispered something in the youth’s ear. She was short, but more than able to take care of herself

and a rowdy teenage thief. She looked up at Mike with an expression of polite surprise. Her sharp, gray eyes quizzed him from beneath the longest eyelashes he’d ever seen. He hadn’t met many security guards, but instinct told him few had eyes like hers. “You were disturbed in your room?” she asked, her voice slow and sweet like warmed honey. “Yes, I was.” His indignation resurfaced. “This… this punk was trying to rob me. What sort of security do you have in this hotel? He could have shot me. You have a great way of taking care of your guests.” He noticed the name “Sarah” embroidered on the pocket of her gray shirt. The curve of her breast made the name hang crooked. “Real sorry this happened,” said the other guard—Billy-Joe, according to the name on his pocket. Stoop-backed and gray-haired, he spoke at a third the speed of the young woman. He chewed something. Mike suspected it wasn’t gum. “We sure don’t like for our visitors to be disturbed, Sir.” Mike couldn’t read the expression on the man’s face. Strange glances passed between the two guards. “We’ll take care of this,” Billy-Joe said. “The police will want to talk to you when they get here. Until then, why don’t you just go quietly back to your room, take it easy and get ready?” Why get ready? He was more than ready to take on whatever passed for law enforcement in this backwater. But the adrenaline rush faded and his knees wanted to shake. “No,” he said, as Sarah settled his Burberry on her arm and turned to the still-open elevator. “I need my raincoat.” With a smile that could warm his cold feet, she shook her head. “We need it. Evidence,” Sarah said. “We’ll take care of it. It’s not the sort of raincoat you could replace here in Seven Oaks.” Not in this one-eyed town, not in Chicago, not even the crowded shop in Haymarket, with the bald assistant they’d decided was Jeeves’ younger brother. Nowhere on the planet could he find another. “I’ll come down with you,” he said. That raincoat wasn’t going out of his sight. The two guards exchanged bewildered glances. Even the handcuffed thief gaped. Sarah’s eyes widened. She looked at Mike then at Billy-Joe. Mike frowned at them. They were an odd pair to begin with and now they were trading eyebrow gestures like the Marx Bothers. “I’ll take good care of your Burberry and the police will give you a receipt if they keep it,” Sara said. “Go back to your room and check if anything else is missing.” A strange note of anxiety seeped into her voice. “That’s right. Just go back to your room. Good idea,” Billy-Joe echoed her suggestion with almost comic insistence. Mike wavered. He wanted this over. She seemed honest and reasonable, and he should be able to trust a security guard. Relief lightened both their faces when he agreed. “I’ll call you the minute the police arrive,” Sarah assured him. With mingled satisfaction and exhaustion, he watched the elevator doors close on the trio and turned back to his room. Another door opened and a pair of startled eyes met his before their owner

slammed the door. Mike reached his own room. The carpet felt rough and scratchy under his feet. He must have forgotten his slippers. He crossed to the dresser to check his wallet and stopped dead at his reflection, his mouth dropping in shock. He’d overlooked more than his slippers. Woken so abruptly, he’d raced down the hallway and ambled back as naked as the day his mother first set eyes on him. His knees caved under him. Sitting on the bed, he gawked at his reflection in the mirror. A second later, he jumped up, kicked the door shut and sagged on the mattress. Now, he understood those strange looks. He was lucky he hadn’t been arrested for indecent exposure. He might still be. He’d heard wild stories about Southern law enforcement. He had no idea how long he stared at his horror-struck reflection. Why had he ever come? To find a place where he could forget the pain and remember the warmth and the love he’d lost. If the local yokels didn’t steal them first. The buzz of the phone near his right ear brought him back to reality. It was Sarah. “Mr. Hartman, the police are here. Would it be okay if they came up now or do you need a little extra time to sort things out?” Embarrassment clouded his appreciation of her tact. “I’m still going through things.” “Ten minutes then?” She hung up as he agreed and left him wondering if she was coming up with them. Ten minutes gave him time to pull on his blue jeans, drag a polo shirt over his head and fortify himself with caffeine. He walked barefoot down to the drink machine. As he snapped the top of the can, he received a shower of Coke. Even inanimate objects were out to get him. Sarah’s absence should have contributed to his peace of mind. It didn’t. He kept seeing those deep gray eyes and her polite smile every time he looked the police officer in the face. The encounter with the law was unsatisfactory. Mike wanted to throw the book at the thief. The police disagreed. Twenty minutes in the company of a slow-talking detective diffused Mike’s fury. Pressing charges would result in his raincoat being held as evidence and the thief would, in all likelihood, receive a mere hand slap. Mike found himself agreeing to drop charges. After they left, he felt he’d been suckered. He tossed and turned for some hours but near dawn he slept, the weight of his raincoat on his feet.

***** Five weeks later, he could laugh about it, at least to himself, sitting by a tall, fanlight-topped window that overlooked the Seven Oaks Club rose garden. Mike sipped his Bloody Mary and looked around. The room could be a film set for a TV mini-series. It got on his nerves, the artificial scent from the silk magnolia centerpieces, the clutter of heavy cutlery and the twitter of music from the room opposite. Andrea would have reveled in the atmosphere. He did his best. Tom Jendrasic, his old graduate school buddy and Seven Oaks Public Schools Superintendent, had invited him for brunch with Charles Winslow, the school board chairman. Tom’s two children happily fenced with breadsticks. Charles’s teenage daughter hummed as she buttered biscuits. Annie Jendrasic and Mary Winslow

discussed a new linen outlet store somewhere near Christiansburg. He felt very alone. “Nice way to start the year,” Mike said as he cut into a large slice of country ham. Tom nodded. “Ready for tomorrow?” “As ready as I can be. You don’t really know a school until you know the teachers.” “And remember what you’re inheriting.” “It’s not that bad,” Charles interrupted. Mike didn’t contradict Charles, but remembered Tom’s warnings. A rough job lay ahead and a bunch of difficult teachers to do it with. But that was why he’d taken the position, to bury himself away where no one knew. To save enough money to go back and finish his doctorate. To forget the horrors of the past two years. “You’ve got a mess there, true, but you’ve got some good teachers,” Charles said. Mike decided to change the subject until he and Tom were alone. In the lull, the sound of piano music and the buzz of nonstop conversation magnified from across the hall. “What’s going on over there?” Mike asked a passing waiter. “The McAllisters. Mizz Bea just got back from Europe and so old Mizz Sarah is giving her a tea dance for her birthday.” Charles and Tom exchanged knowing glances. Annie and Mary nodded to each other. Mike sensed he was missing something. “Who are the McAllisters?” he asked. “The McAllisters are Seven Oaks. The money. The politics. And the power,” said Annie. Mike raised his eyebrows. He knew her tendency to exaggerate. “Come on,” he said. “She’s right,” Mary said. “Hugo McAllister was state senator for donkey’s years before he retired. Peter McAllister is running for mayor, an office his Uncle Samuel held for ages, and Simon was school board chairman for three terms before Charles. “They’re in banking and insurance. A couple of them are lawyers. Between them they own most of the downtown, the lumberyards, a couple of hotels, a lot of beach property and half of the club we’re sitting in.” Mike dismissed the McAllisters. He doubted he’d have many dealings with them. His energies would be spent on sorting out Lemmon Park. “You forgot Bea and Ms. McAllister,” Tamesha said. “Yes,” her father said. “Beatrice or ‘Bea’ is our one and only Merit Scholar. And ‘ young Sarah’ as she’s known to distinguish her from her grandmother ‘old Sarah’ is one of your teachers.” “One of mine?” Mike asked. Just his luck to have a social butterfly on his staff. “That’s right,” Tamesha smiled as she spoke. Her dark eyes lit with fond memories. “She taught me to read. I was in fourth grade, a non-reader and trying my best to be the bad girl of the school. Mom and Dad were pulling their hair out and trying to decide if they could decently send a ten-year-old away to boarding school. “I hated Ms. McAllister at first and pitched a dozen fits. But she’s tough. She made me learn. I’ll probably love her forever because of it. Tell her ‘hello’ from me.”

As they left, Mike couldn’t resist a glance at the crowd paying homage to the town’s royal family. Music and a well-heeled gathering filled the room. He stared. Through the mass of heads he caught a glimpse of auburn curls. The security guard from the hotel! As if he could forget her. He shuddered at the memory. She must work here, too. A lot of women worked double jobs at minimum wage to make ends meet. It must be pretty rough to work all night and then come here to serve champagne and smoked salmon savories to the idle rich. Tamesha shrieked, “Ms. McAllister!” She darted through the doorway and returned with the famed Ms. McAllister in tow. She greeted the Winslows with hugs and grins, exchanged courtesies with the Jendrasics and smiled politely as Tamesha introduced Mike. “Glad to meet you, Mr. Hartman,” she said. “Welcome to Seven Oaks.” Shock couldn’t stop him admiring her poise—the gracious resident welcoming the newcomer, with just the right touch of polite teacher meeting new principal. “I’m looking forward to this year,” she said, offering a perfectly manicured hand. He hadn’t noticed her nails the last time or the softness of her hand and the confidence in her handshake. But she hadn’t touched him then, she’d just looked. And he’d given her an eyeful. “I must get back or Mimi will be sending out search parties. It’s my sister’s birthday party. See you at school tomorrow. Eight o’clock, right?” Mike said something. He was staring like an idiot and knew it. He nodded, his throat just about too dry to speak. She wasn’t wearing the gray blouse with her name embroidered over her breast. She wore an expensive silk dress in teal blue, a fine, gold choker around her neck and pearl studs in her ears. Her gray eyes sparkled and shone with something akin to amusement. He wanted to throttle her for that. Mike wasn’t sure whether he wished her or himself on the moon. He watched her swinging skirts and her shapely ankles as she disappeared in the crowd. This was all he needed, a teacher who’d witnessed his most embarrassing moment. He dreaded the morning. But it came all the same. He’d spent the last month preparing for this day. Reading records and sorting the confused mess in his predecessor’s filing system took ages. Establishing peaceful coexistence with Marianne Wolf, his inherited secretary, had been another challenge. “The faculty is insubordinate and difficult and want to run the principal. Expect them to resist a newcomer. They’ll see you as a damn Yankee, no matter what you do. Parents are just plain difficult, when you can find them. And the students unruly as a wagonload of monkeys.” Mike remembered every word Tom said in confidence and was ready to take them all on. Mike prepared well. Marianne Wolf did her stuff. Lists, class rolls and assignments waited, typed and photocopied, and he’d planned the meeting down to the last detail. He’d left on Friday convinced that he could start off on the right foot with just the right balance of confidence, efficiency and reason. That was before brunch at the country club. He drove to school, his stomach churning corn flakes and coffee until it curdled. He told himself it wasn’t nerves. He was lying through his teeth.

***** “Why, Bea? Why pick today?” Sarah called to the heavens. Bea had parked at the bottom of the drive, blocking Sarah’s Volvo, a great way to begin the first day. Sarah balanced the platter of ham biscuits on the roof of her car and raced back to the house to grab Bea’s keys. They weren’t on the hook by the back door or on the counter. A quick glance in Bea’s room found only the sleeping teenager, no keys on the dresser or table. Sarah steamed through the house and finally found them on the living room floor among the scattered contents of Bea’s purse. Sarah scooped everything back into the red leather bag, left it on the cherry wood coffee table and tore down the drive to play car shuffle. As she drove toward town, she calmed. No point in arriving hot and bothered. She’d be on time. Sarah had a reputation for punctuality and didn’t intend to lose it. She grinned to herself. She’d do fine. Yesterday’s meeting had unnerved her but she’ d handle things. What was he, after all? A principal. So what if he was the superintendent’s bullyboy. If he tried any winning-by-intimidation tactics around her, he’d fail. She’d just remember how he looked the first time she met him. That would strip him of any pretension. She chuckled at her unconscious pun. Then flushed scarlet as his image shot across her mind’s eye. Remember that night? The memory of his tall, muscular, body gleaming with exertion wasn’t one she’d forget in a hurry.

***** As Mike walked the silent corridors, his excitement rose. He’d meet this challenge. Pull the school together. Drag it up to standard. Restore morale and discipline. Heck, he could do it all. But the idea of Ms. Debutante McAllister entertaining the faculty with the tale of his naked chase gave him goose bumps under his suit. He braced his broad shoulders. If she thought it was a great joke, heaven help her. He’d take care of any nonsense. Marianne waited in the office. “Ready for them, Mr. Hartman?” she asked, her chair squeaking in protest under her bulk. “I’m ready. Are they?” He turned away to stare out the window and saw a tall man in his thirties jump down from a truck and head for the basement door, a covered tray in his hands. An older woman followed, grasping a large, plastic container. “They’ll be ready,” Marianne’s voice came from across the room. “They set things up early.” He wondered if she’d deliberately misunderstood. “What do they need to set up?” He turned to face her. She shrugged. “Guess I should have mentioned it. It just slipped my mind until this morning.” He refused to acknowledge the obvious lie and let her continue. “The first day we have a potluck breakfast. They’ve done it for years.” “You should have mentioned it,” Mike said. “I’d have brought my share if I’d known.” He didn’t wait for an answer but shut the door of his office behind him and watched from his window the procession of teachers carrying boxes and plates and a

coffee urn. There were a couple of men, the rest women of different ages. No one had short, auburn curls. He gave them fifteen minutes. Before leaving, he slid open his left desk drawer. Andrea and Joshua smiled up at him from the oval, wood frame. It was all he had left. Earlier, he had placed the photo on his bookshelf. And yanked it down. He couldn’t face the inevitable questions or worse, the sympathetic comments. He closed the drawer. Tight. Then left the office with a curt nod to Marianne. The twenty yards to the teachers’ lounge stretched into what seemed like miles. Plenty of time to ready himself. This he could do. He’d failed to protect his son from harm and watched, helpless as his wife destroyed herself. But he could run a school and face a room full of teachers. Even if some of them wished him halfway across the continent. Conversation buzzed from behind the heavy door. He opened it and silence fell as if angels passed overhead. He’d bet that half the sentences carried up to heaven had his name in them. Blocking the doorway, he looked around at the rough walls, shiny with seventy years of paint then across to the cluster of people by the table. The young man from the truck stepped toward Mike. Mike beat him to the opener. “Morning, I’m Mike Hartman. It’s good to see you here early. Marianne mentioned something about breakfast. It sounds like a great way to begin the year.” “I’m Webster Conrad, Web for short,” the young man replied with a slight smile. “Severely Emotionally Disturbed.” Mike nodded, accepting this as his job assignment, not self-description. Web went on, “Grab some juice. Kara is fixing coffee. There’s more food to come. I hope you don’t mind but we’ve done this since the dawn of time.” Mike accepted a blueberry muffin. Everyone eyed him as he chewed. More teachers arrived, all bearing supplies. They had enough food to feed a regiment. “No ham biscuits?” asked a short woman in a purple shirt. “Sarah’s not here yet,” Web said. Hair rose at the back of Mike’s neck. He’d do without ham biscuits for life if he could avoid her. The door opened. A familiar voice called out, “Hold the door, someone… please.” “Ham biscuits,” said Web. “Good old Sarah.” She came in, a tray tilting on one arm and a large leather tote bag sliding down her shoulder. She wore blue jeans and a red, long-sleeved T-shirt. Mike had heard redheads couldn’t wear red. It was a lie. On her, it looked magnificent. Long sleeves were pushed up to her elbows. She looked ready for work, for anything, for anyone. She smiled around the room. “Hello, everyone,” she said. Her eyes met Mike’s. He froze an instant. She grinned. He wanted to wring her long, slim neck. “Have a biscuit,” she said. She spoke to the room in general but her eyes watched Mike. “Thank you, I will.” As Mike reached over, he brushed her arm. Warm, alive and soft, the touch triggered memories best left cold. He wanted no contact with Ms. McAllister. His hand closed around a biscuit. It felt as warm as her skin. The aroma of baking wafted from the stack. Mike bit into the warm, golden crust. The mingled tastes of flaky dough, butter, mustard and sharp, salty ham burst together

on his tongue. Her eyes watched, alert with speculation and interest. “You’re a good cook, Ms. McAllister,” he said. “You’ve met?” asked one of the teachers. “Yes,” Sarah answered with a half smile and a pause that gave Mike cold prickles. “At the country club yesterday. Charles Winslow introduced us.” “Must be nice,” muttered the teacher on Mike’s left. Sarah shrugged off the comment with a smile and moved over to Kara and the coffeepot. Mike decided it was high time to call the meeting to order. Thirty-two eyes watched him from around the scratched conference table. A few chairs scraped and papers rustled. Someone dropped a purse. The accompanying thud and scurry irritated everyone. Mike felt like Moses coming down from the mountain with the stone tablets. The whole room waited on his words and by the time he was through, most of them would be gunning for him. He glanced around the table. Half a dozen smiles and a few nods acknowledged his scrutiny. Sarah’s wasn’t one of them. She was too busy whispering to her neighbor. “I’m Mike Hartman, your new principal. I’d like you to introduce yourselves.” He listened, taking notes about families, hobbies, husbands and physical characteristics. He’d remember everyone after this morning. Then it came to Sarah. Their eyes met for an instant, before she glanced around the table. “I’m Sarah McAllister. I’m Learning Disabled.” “We ought to refer you then, Sarah,” Web said. She laughed, giving Web a grin to rival the Cheshire cat’s. “I teach the LD students. I ’m not married. As far as hobbies, I grow roses, read and try to stay sane. I don’t have any children but I do have a teenager, my sister Bea. This morning I decided she counts as two children and a husband.” She threw Mike a strange look as she sat down. He couldn’t decide if it challenged, provoked or intrigued. She hadn’t mentioned a word about a second job. Other teachers had. She made it sound as if she and her sister were alone in the world. Yesterday she’d been in the middle of a mob of friends and relations. He forced himself to concentrate on the next speaker, not dwell on Sarah McAllister. After the introductions, everyone relaxed… a little. Mike handed out class lists, specialists’ schedules and calendars. He answered a handful of questions and let conversation hum a little before he lowered his first boom. “My first commission from the superintendent is to bring this school up to standard. Last year the state’s visiting team found the school noncompliant in three areas and needing improvement in six. I won’t list them. Everyone has read the report. You need to choose representatives for an Improvements Committee. By October first I want a corrective plan and by Christmas I intend to inform the superintendent we’ve made improvements in all areas.” He paused to let the news sink in. “When do you need these volunteers?” It was Kara, the Speech Pathologist. “Tomorrow afternoon will be soon enough,” he replied. “We’ll meet sometime Thursday.” He sensed everyone honing their excuses. Doughnut holes, muffins and biscuits produce a sugar high and a low in teachers as

well as kids. Mike’s next announcements eliminated the low. He had moved several classrooms. The kindergarten and second grade were switching floors. Officially because of easy access to the restrooms, in truth because he couldn’t face the constant presence of fifty seven-year-olds so close to the office. Joshua would have been a second-grader this year. Speech would share with Guidance and free up a room for the nurse. Art and Music would use the former art room, leaving the old music room to be a computer lab. Several stricken faces glared at him. Others looked resigned as if expecting this. A few complained. He cut protests short, saying all boxes had already been moved and he’ d hand out keys when the meeting was over. If looks could kill, he’d have been murdered by the kindergarten teachers. Mike glanced around the table as his words sank in. One second grade teacher looked on the verge of tears and the speech pathologist looked as if she’d like to deck him. She was big enough to manage it, too. Web passed a notepad to Sarah. She stifled a chuckle and grinned at the ceiling. Mike’s next words wiped the smile off her face. “One last thing, the superintendent is committed to full inclusion for Special Education. We have two classes here and a low student-teacher ratio, so we’re in the perfect position to implement his recommendations. I’ve already assigned all Special Education students to a regular class as ‘homeroom’ for administrative purposes, lunch and specialists. Just a beginning, we’ll go on from there. “I’ll meet with the Special Ed people tomorrow. Most of the planning will be in their hands but we need everyone’s input, since you’ll all be involved.” Stunned silence blanketed the room. Sarah stared at him, face pale and eyes wide with shock. Mike stood up, thanked them all for their time and left. He could hear their buzz of fury as he closed the oak door behind him. Sarah left minutes after him. She needed time alone or she’d scream. Talk of a nightmare. Mike Hartman’s cool confidence infuriated her. Drifting into town like this and rearranging things to suit his fancy! He hadn’t been so self-assured the first time she’ d met him. She had to stop him. She’d spent six years here. Forget current educational trends. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, stand by while he ripped apart years of hard work.

Chapter Two

“Miss McAllister, Mrs. Carter is down here in the office. She’s anxious to see you,” Marianne’s voice materialized over the intercom. Sarah swore under her breath then flipped her reply button. “I’ll be down in ten minutes.” She surveyed the chaos of her room. It was four-thirty and she’d planned on staying to get it straightened out. Let it wait. She shoved an armful of folders into the filing cabinet, grabbed her purse and locked the door behind her. She’d claim she was on her way out, it might cut Mrs. Carter short. The woman was notorious for her loud mouth, bad temper and profanity, and at this point in the day as welcome as a root canal. Mrs. Carter was in full sail. Sarah could hear her down the hallway, even though the office door was shut. Poor Marianne! Sarah didn’t even get into the office before the irate parent lunged. “I want to know what you’re doing to Antonio,” she shouted at Sarah. “Nothing that I’m aware of, Mrs. Carter.” With a whoop of triumph, Mrs. Carter shoved a letter under Sarah’s nose. “Is this nothing?” Sarah took the letter. Crumpled and greasy from something in the Carter kitchen, it was still legible. Written on the school letterhead and signed by Mike, it said Antonio had been assigned to Mrs. Price’s third grade as homeroom. Sarah sighed. There would be more distressed parents before school opened. “Don’t be too concerned, Mrs. Carter,” Sarah said. “Our new principal made a few changes. All our Special Education students now have regular homerooms.” “Why? What about Antonio? Did anyone think of him? How can you do this?” She began to roil up again. Sarah resisted the temptation to say it was because the new principal had rocks in his head. “It’s just for lunch count, announcements, specialists and field trips. Things like that.” She didn’t dare say more. Mike had the power to make a liar out of her. “Whose idea is this? Yours?” “Our new principal’s. He thought it would be a good way to start the new school year.” Mrs. Carter anchored her hands on her hips. “He’d better explain.” Sarah agreed. Let Mike Hartman cope. If he could. It would be an interesting experience in his professional development. “I’ll see if he’s free,” she said, willing herself not to smirk. Sarah didn’t need to go anywhere. She just looked up. Mike stood in the doorway. Their eyes met. For a split second, she saw him again, framed in the opening as the elevator doors closed. He looked different with clothes on. “You need me, Ms. McAllister?” Before Sarah had a chance to reply, Mrs. Carter leapt in like an enraged momma

bear. “So, you’re our new principal,” she said, looking him up and down as if he was an insect she’d found on her kitchen floor. “You’re the one moving my Antonio around.” Her tone implied something illegal or subversive. “I’m Mike Hartman.” He offered his hand. Mrs. Carter ignored the courtesy. “What are you playing at?” she demanded. “You can’t move Antonio from Ms. McAllister’s room. I won’t have it. I know my legal rights. You can’t take him out of there unless I agree. And I don’t.” Her chin jutted forward and dark eyes glared malevolence from the deep folds of her face. Mike repeated what Sarah had told her minutes earlier. It didn’t satisfy. Mrs. Carter got in Mike’s face and swore. Sarah and Marianne had met her fury before. Mike hadn’t. He recoiled in shock. The others watched as the woman wreaked on Mike a lifetime’s frustration against authority. She was gifted. She rewrote the entire syntax of profanity. Verbs became nouns, adjectives turned into verbs and she used nouns as adverbs. Sarah remembered the first time she’d endured one of Mrs. Carter’s verbal assaults. She’d shaken like a leaf and gone home and howled. To this day, it helped her understand why Carter children assumed a wooden impassivity when faced with teachers’ irritation or anger. It was a necessary survival skill in their world. Sarah took pity on Mike. He didn’t deserve this the first day on the job. They were, after all, on the same side. Even if it hadn’t felt like it this morning. She grabbed Mrs. Carter’s arm, the flabbiness soft under her fingers. “Mrs. Carter, I can’t let you go on like this,” she said, half-expecting to get a punch in the face. The fists stayed down and Sarah plowed on. “If Antonio talked like this in school, I’d have him on the phone calling you. This isn’t doing any good.” The woman stopped, stared at Sarah and shook her head. Her eyes still blazed. “I don’t know,” she said. “You’d better not mess with my boy. He’s coming to you, right?” Her face was inches from Sarah’s. “Believe me, Mrs. Carter, Antonio will be with Ms. McAllister as much as he needs.” It was Mike who spoke. Sarah relaxed. Mrs. Carter frowned. Her fury seemed to encompass the entire world. “He better had be,” she spat out the words as she left the office. Peace settled as the door slammed behind her. Sarah sighed. She understood the dazed look in Mike’s blue eyes, like cornflowers battered by a tornado. “I’m glad I don’t teach,” Marianne said with a shrug and a shake of her head. Sarah grinned. “A high-stress job.” “I need a Coke,” Marianne announced. She gave a questioning look to the other two. They shook their heads and she took off down the hall. “I owe you one,” Mike said, running a hand through his blond hair. “Does she often come in like that?” “Only when she’s stoned, drunk or someone’s messing with one of her children.” Sarah couldn’t resist the jab. “She has more than one child?” “Six. We have three here right now. Antonio in my room, Dewanne in kindergarten and Pietro in fifth grade, in Web’s class.” “And the others?”

“Derek is in Waterfields and Dawntay is in middle school.” “Waterfields?” “The juvenile detention home.” She waited. Let him ask. She wouldn’t volunteer information. Not about the Carters. “Interesting family. Is there a Mr. Carter?” Sarah couldn’t stop her mouth twitching. “Local gossip claims her sons are named after their fathers.” Mike stared as the implication dawned. “The woman probably swears a lot. She has her hands full.” “So do we, for six hours a day.” “You only named five but you said she had six.” Sarah paused. She’d planned never to refer to their first meeting, but he’d asked. “You’ve already met Harris,” she said. “I don’t think so,” he replied. “When?” As soon as the words came out of his mouth, his face showed that he guessed the answer. “You had an argument with him over your Burberry,” she said. Fighting back a grin, she wished him, “Good afternoon.” Turned her back and left. Mike never noticed that the photocopier shifted as he leaned against it, he just stared in horror. He felt as if he was sliding into a funnel and about to get stuck in the narrow part. He should have taken that first night in town as an omen and refused the job. He could have been safe, working on his thesis in the nice comfortable world of academia. Instead, he was committed for two years to wrestle with crazy parents and ungracious teachers in a run-down school where life got more difficult by the hour. It could only get worse. Once Ms. Social Sarah McAllister started entertaining the faculty with the story of his midnight chase, he’d be the laughingstock of the whole system. After Mike’s plans for “progress,” a day spent unpacking in the heat and the confrontation with Mrs. Carter, Sarah needed peace and quiet. An empty driveway told her both waited at home. Bea must have just left, because the mail sat in a heap on the hall table. Bea’s lay unopened. Sarah took her pile of junk mail, bills, a couple of postcards and a letter from her mother, grabbed a glass of iced coffee and wandered down to the lake. Perched on the end of the dock, feet dangling in the water as she watched the sunlight ripple on the water, Sarah relaxed for the first time all day. Her job was no picnic at the best of times. Last year, she’d had the class from hell and this year she had Mike Hartman and his idea of “progress”. She should have chosen a nice, easy, less-stressful career, like air traffic controller. And it probably paid better. No. She couldn’t do anything but teach. She’d loved it from the first—the challenge, the strange mix of unending variety and mind-numbing routine. And her kids. They’d always be “hers”. They’d given her focus, a quest and recognition as someone more than a McAllister. She was in for the long haul. Her program would outlast Mike’s changes. And she’d survive, she always had. Turning her face to catch the breeze, she mulled over her concerns. They all carried one tag—Mike Hartman. She dreamt about him. That first impression had seared itself in her brain, invading

her sleep. Sometimes he’d be standing there as the elevator doors opened, other times she’d see him disappear as they closed. Once, the doors had jammed open and he’d stood there, impaling her with his dark eyes as his manhood rose and saluted her. Last night had been the very worst. As the doors closed, he stopped them with the flat of his hand and stepped into the elevator. He looked like the hero of a Norse legend —tall and broad with those clear, blue eyes, fair stubble like silver on his cheeks and the sheen of fresh sweat on his skin. His breathing sounded like distant surf as she just stood and waited. He wrapped steel-hard arms around her, pulled her against his firm chest and kissed her. As response coursed through her, she woke. In the daze of waking, she’d still felt his lips on hers and wetness between her legs. It was pure imagination and utter nonsense. Her dreams were too frequent and too erotic for any woman’s peace of mind. And she didn’t need nighttime fantasies about the man who was about to ruin her days. Trying to imagine what advice her mother might give, Sarah grinned. It wasn’t hard. Mother would be blunt and to the point. “If he’s bed-worthy, darling, do something about it. If not, forget him.” The trouble was, Sarah never found life as simple as her mother did. There was always a snag or a complication to muddy her thinking, some angle that shifted details so the whole thing ended up a big mess. It had just happened again, and Sarah had no idea how she was going to make it through the year. She squinted at the sun on the water. Get through the year, some hope. If she didn’t start getting a good night’s rest, she’d be lucky to see October. Before walking up the slope, back to the house, she lifted the tarp covering her boat. Empty beer cans littered the bottom of the boat. Sarah frowned. Neighborhood teenagers celebrating. She always removed the rowlocks, so she wasn’t worried about the boat getting stolen but she wished they’d party on their own parents’ property.

***** Sarah was back in the house and had showered before the front door banged and a voice called out, “What’s for dinner?” Sarah paused in grating cheese. “I’m fixing an omelet. Want one?” Bea glided in, tall, long-legged, blonde and beautiful. Everything Sarah knew she wasn’t. If she hadn’t loved her with a passion since the day her stepmother Angel had put the two-hour-old infant in her arms, Sarah would be indescribably jealous of her sister’s looks. Bea slumped into a rocking chair by the glass door. “I’m not really hungry,” she said. “I’m going out.” “You’ve just come in.” “So? I’m going out again.” Sarah prayed for patience. “Have you been up to see Mimi?” “Haven’t had a chance.” “Drop by on your way out. If you don’t, she’ll be calling me demanding to know why you haven’t.” “Watch the guilt trip. It doesn’t work.” “Go easy. She did give you a birthday party yesterday.”

“My birthday was a handy excuse to jump-start Peter’s election campaign.” “Don’t be so cynical.” “You don’t deny it. Some birthday party, when Grandmother made up the guest list and carefully omitted every Fry relative.” Anger brought a flush to Bea’s cheeks. Hurt glittered deep in her eyes. Sarah understood. She also accepted the need to placate their autocratic and temperamental grandmother. “That’s the way Mimi feels and she isn’t likely to change.” Bea rested her chin in her hands and frowned. “You can be philosophical about it. It’ s not your mother she sneers at.” Sarah whispered, half to herself. “Not now.” They looked at each other in silence. Between sisters, hurt needs no words. “At least your mother’s become acceptable. Mine never will,” Bea said. “You know Mimi’s itching for your mother to visit. She can’t wait to parade around town with Lady Julia Fawcett on her arm.” “She’s Lady Fawcett. There’s a big difference. She explained it at length on the phone last week. Mimi’s pressing her and John to come over for a visit.” Bea’s eyes widened. “Our grandmother is an awful snob.” Sarah chuckled. “And then some. Mother’s rather enjoying it. She says it appeals to her twisted sense of humor.” “Is she coming?” Sarah shrugged. She’d never let Bea know the mixed feelings that niggled at the idea of her mother returning to Seven Oaks. “She says she will, maybe at Thanksgiving, but she won’t bring John. I think she’s serious.” “That should liven up the holidays.” Bea stood up, shook her hair off her face and grinned. “Loved the talk, sister mine. I’m off.” “Watch where you park when you come back,” Sarah warned. “I don’t want have to play car shuffle again.” “What?” Bea stared. “You blocked me in this morning,” Sarah reminded her. “I don’t want a repeat tomorrow.” “Sorry, Sis, I didn’t realize.” How could she not realize? Blame it on youth. Sarah’s wasn’t so far away to forget. “Don’t do it again. I don’t want to be late two mornings running.” Bea grinned. “Trying to impress the new principal?” Sarah’s denial came a little too fast. “Why would I bother?” The grin turned into a triumphant laugh. “Is he handsome and sexy? What will you do when he asks you to help inventory the book room?” “Tell him it’s not in my job description.” Bea’s words lingered long after the front door slammed behind her. Sarah most definitely was not trying to impress Mike Hartman. She didn’t need to. Or did she? Only to the extent it took to convince him she had a good program. She’d worked hard and long to escape the image of a rich, political McAllister. She’d been recognized as one of the best teachers in the system. A new bug from Chicago wasn’t going to undermine her

hard-won reputation. They’d had an unfortunate first meeting. She grinned. Maybe that was why he’d started the year like a bulldozer. Was he worried about what she knew? She could fix that.

***** Sarah’s green Volvo sat under the one tree in the parking lot. It was seven-thirty. Mike also recognized Web’s battered pickup. This morning’s meeting would be interesting. Alone in the office, Mike sifted through the mail he hadn’t read yesterday. A knock on his open door broke his concentration. Sarah came in. “Could I have a word with you?” She carried a dark blue coffee mug with an apple and the word “Teacher” on the side, and her smile distracted him from the superintendent’s memo he’d been reading. She wore blue jeans, like yesterday, but this time she wore a magenta T-shirt. It suited her even better than the red, especially where it stretched across her breasts. He stopped himself. He wasn’t the sort of principal to notice his teachers’ breasts, even if she had seen a whole lot more of him. “Sure, have a seat.” He nodded toward a chair. She sat down, her legs stretched in front of her, crossed at the ankles. She looked relaxed and composed. Just the way he didn’t feel. “You are aware of the superintendent’s recommendations about blue jeans?” He despised his pettiness, but her poise irritated him. “Yes, I am. I only wear them when I’m doing sweated labor. When I teach, I look professional, don’t worry.” He didn’t reply for a minute. Worry wasn’t the first thing on his mind. She was. “There’s something I need to explain,” she said. He nodded and waited, putting his silver pencil down so he’d stop tapping it. She rested the mug on the edge of his desk. The round, red, voluptuous apple made a nice distraction from her. “You know I had a vacation job?” She knew how to keep his

attention.

“Of course,” he snapped, and immediately regretted it. Rudeness wouldn’t help.

Her gray eyes never flickered. Only a corner of her mouth moved. “I want to explain something. I keep my jobs apart. What happens at school is confidential.” She looked him in the eye. “I do the same with my job at Plantation Inn. I wouldn’t dream of discussing incidents there with anyone here or even with my family.” Mike took two endless minutes to digest her words. His neck and shoulder muscles unwound. He’d never realized they’d tensed. He felt his scalp relax as he ran his hand through his hair. “To say I’m eternally grateful is the understatement of the year. It’s not the sort of thing I want broadcast on the local news.” “I can’t vouch for Billy-Joe’s silence but I don’t think he knows who you are and he’s been at the job so long, he probably didn’t even notice.” Her last comment bordered on the inconceivable. “Do things like that happen often?” he asked. He couldn’t believe he’d said that. Her answer shocked him even more.

“Let’s just say stranger things have happened.” “Stranger?” “Much stranger, odder and more weird.” She sounded so matter-of-fact. He didn’t like the idea of her working in a hotel where naked men ran up and down hallways. She stood up. “I need to get back to my room. The meeting’s at nine, right?” Mike watched her leave. His eye caught her mug on the corner of the desk. He called her back. “You forgot your coffee.” She turned and smiled. “Thanks.” She reached out for the mug. The smile settled a little. Mike wanted to know what went on behind those steady gray eyes. “See you later,” he said. “I’ll be back.” It almost sounded like a threat. She arrived to the minute, with Web and Kara in tow. Mike guessed they’d met in the hallway and converged on his doorway like a united front. It wasn’t a group who wasted time. Greetings took only moments. They drew their chairs in a semicircle facing him, closing ranks. It didn’t matter. He had his instructions. They would adapt. They didn’t have a choice. “The superintendent is committed to full inclusion for Special Education. As administrators and educators in the system, our job is to implement his goals. You know the student body. I don’t, yet. I’m open to your suggestions to make this as easy, swift and painless as possible for everyone.” “I think it’s a lousy idea.” Sarah’s voice rose as she leaned forward in her chair. “We have a good program here. The parents are happy and the kids are learning. We mainstream them out whenever possible. Why not let well enough alone?” The unexpected outburst and the angry flash in her eyes surprised Mike. He hadn’t asked her opinion. The point wasn’t negotiable. The others didn’t seem surprised. They must be used to her. He wasn’t. He demanded, and got, professionalism from his teachers. “The superintendent made the decision. We’re paid to execute it.” He’d planned on sounding decisive—it came out glacial. The look she gave him might work on second-graders. He ignored it. Silence fell. He waited it out. Surely someone else had an opinion. “I’m not arguing with Dr. Jendrasic. I just wish he’d look around a little more. He’s probably spent thirty minutes in this building in the last two years. We’d like to think he knew what we were doing before he asks us to change.” Kara had a clear and precise enunciation. You could always tell a speech pathologist. Mike turned to Web who sat watching everyone, a smirk on his face. Something about him niggled. Mike preferred Sarah’s open hostility. At least he knew where she stood. “You have any suggestions, Web?” “I think it’s great,” he said. “I’m all for full inclusion. Put all my darlings out in the regular classroom and we’ll take bets on which teacher comes out screaming first.” Mike contained his annoyance. “I think your last comment illustrates the whole point. We’ve got to abandon this ‘them-and-us’ mentality. All teachers need to work for all children.”

Another silence greeted him. He waited. One of them had to respond. To his surprise, it was Sarah, her earlier anger controlled. “Don’t forget why our students are with us. It’s because they couldn’t cope. They’re in Special Ed because regular ed failed them. Do you really want to put them through that again?” Her eyes held his. He saw intelligence, feeling, a trace of the remaining anger… and worry. He wanted to smooth out the crease between her eyes. “Remember, they were in the regular room alone, without support. That’s not what I’m proposing. It will be a whole different ball game if they’re there with help.” He’d scored his point, but not one of them acknowledged it. Web nodded. Kara shrugged. Sarah shook her head but it was a shake of anxiety, not defiance. Damn them. School hadn’t even opened and they were balking at his efforts to implement new policy. Why had he ever agreed to come? What made him think a new start would help? Thanks a lot, Tom. Web broke the silence. “Kara and Sarah have a point. We do have a good program here. Why not see us in action before sweeping changes are made? Can’t we wait and see how things shape up? Maybe talk about it after the first grading period.” “Midterm,” Mike countered. “I’ll expect each of you to have something concrete by midterm.” He could almost hear the sighs of relief. They’d bought four and a half weeks’ respite. He could wait that long for them to toe the line. As they stood up, Mike slipped in the final word. “Think especially about selling this to parents. They can get anxious about change.” Web grinned. “We’ve got some vocal ones.” “I met one yesterday. A most expressive lady.” “Who?” For the life of him, Mike couldn’t remember her name. “Mrs. Carter,” Sarah said with a chuckle. Web guffawed. Kara shook her head. “You picked a good one. She’s renowned up and down the system. Tell me,” she asked as she bent forward, a wicked gleam in her eyes, “was she in good form?” “Rare, good form,” Mike replied. “An experience I could have lived without.” For the first time that morning, he felt the shift from adversary to fellow sufferer. “I couldn’t have handled her alone,” he conceded. “Sarah rescued me.” He caught a smile in her bright eyes. “She came to see me,” Sarah said with a shrug. “Like mother, like kids,” Web said. Sarah frowned at him, her eyes sharp. “Antonio is a good kid,” she said. “He’s not like the older ones. He tries hard and does his homework religiously.” “He might be good in your room, but he’s a pain in the butt everywhere else,” Web said. “Maybe that proves the point I was trying to make,” Sarah replied with a quick glance at Mike. Mike let it go. He had nothing to gain by pursuing the point. Kara diffused the moment. She stood up, shaking her full skirt and laughed. “Only

you, Sarah, could love one of the Carters. The rest of us endure them.” Mike stood up and walked to the door to watch them leave. A cohesive group— hell-bent and determined to beat him. Let them try. They couldn’t block progress. Marianne stopped Sarah as she passed her desk. “Pixie called from the high school. Some problem with Bea’s schedule. She tried to get hold of her and couldn’t. You need to call her back.” Sarah wrinkled her brow, shook her head, and sighed. An irrational impulse to stroke her neck and tell her it was okay shook Mike. What a thought! Shut the door Hartman and get some sense. He compromised by leaving the door half-closed and eavesdropping shamelessly. “Pixie? Sarah.” Lord, was her voice sweet and sultry. It made him think of hot, July nights, warm breezes, and summer scents. “She said she’d called you last week… No. It’s a work day. I’ll get over during lunch… . I’m either too old or not old enough to understand teenagers. See you about noon.” “I’ll have to leave a few minutes early for lunch. Is that okay? I need to run by the high school.” Mike caught his breath as he realized she’d spoken to him. She half-smiled as she leaned around the door. “Fine, if you have to,” he replied. “Don’t take too long.” She flushed. Did she realize he’d listened to every word? “Don’t worry. You’ll get your contractual day from me,” she said as the outside door swung closed behind her, leaving him staring at the brass knob. “She’s the last one you should have said that to,” Marianne told him. “She stays here after dark some days.” He replied with a grunt, went back into his office and shut the door. He didn’t need his secretary to tell him he was wrong. He rued his words the minute they left his lips. Sarah’d obviously guessed he’d been listening. She was only half-right. He’d been salivating over her. Seeing her silhouetted by the sunshine from the window behind her, he’d caught his breath. She had a beautiful body. Hardly an appropriate thought about one of his teachers. She was striking, not tall but lithe, graceful and… strong. He remembered how she’d subdued that teenager, a good head and shoulders taller than she was, how she’d calmed Mrs. Carter when he’d expected a sock on the jaw and how she hadn’t hesitated to oppose him. Sarah was a force to be reckoned with. Forget her strength of will, her body haunted him—the angle of her long neck, her wide shoulders and the swell of her full breasts. He’d stared a long time at her slim waist, curving into her strong hips and long legs that looked muscular even through her jeans. He’d never before thought of strength and muscles as sexy, and he wouldn’t now. Andrea had been all warmth and softness. Andrea was dead and buried, along with his hopes and his dreams. He shook himself out of this nonsense. “Behave yourself, Hartman,” he told himself. “Efficient principals don’t spend school hours fantasizing about teachers.”

Chapter Three Seven days of school passed without crisis or disaster. They hadn’t had a child get off at the wrong stop and go missing for six hours like a first grader over at Hightown. No one had dialed 911 and called the rescue squad. That embarrassment belonged to one of the middle schools. Lemmon Park’s problems had involved tearful kindergartners, missing birth certificates, lost immunization records and confused bus routes. Marianne had handled everything with calm efficiency. Mike walked the halls before leaving. It was almost eight Wednesday night but the old building held the heat. The third floor still steamed like a sauna. He felt a twinge of guilt over the window air conditioner in the office. No wonder so many children loved to act as gopher or came to the office with fake fevers and headaches. He strolled downstairs, through the library and the second floor rooms—the only sounds the tramp of his feet on the tiles and the whine of the vacuum. On the first floor, he spoke briefly to the night crew, then decided to have one last look in the basement before calling it a day, or rather a night. Sarah’s door stood open. He could see that from the end of the hallway. He frowned. Policy was clear, all rooms had to be locked at the end of the day. It surprised him. She might openly balk at the matter of inclusion but she seemed meticulous in day-to-day things. He’d been impressed by her management the two or three times he’d come by her class. She had a roomful of the most fidgety and squirmy children in the school. There seemed to be six things going on at once but the atmosphere of calm, organization and purposeful activity had astonished him. He thought she might be a little too structured, but catching a bunch of first graders running to the bathroom fifteen minutes later, he decided there was a lot to say for Sarah McAllister’s touch. He approached the open door, her fans whirled in the stillness. She’d brought them from home saying they helped make the place habitable. He hadn’t argued. In fact he’d encouraged other teachers to do the same. The school board could well spare the extra on the utility bill. But it was a bit much leaving them on all night. He strode down the hallway, his shoes tapping on the tiled floor. An invisible Sarah called out, “Hello, Elijah. Did your son get off to UVA okay?” In the doorway, he froze. She had her back to the door, kneeling half under the computer table. As she twisted to reach for something, her rear turned and one hip jutted higher. He couldn’t help enjoying the view. She backed out, still on her knees. “He’ll do great.” Sarah continued. “By the time he ’s a third-year, he’ll be their star running back.” She straightened and turned. Her smile disappeared as she saw Mike. “Thought you were Elijah,” she said. The evaporating smile stung. Was the custodian so much better company than he? “Elijah’s still on the first floor,” he replied. Despite the twin fans perched on the windowsills, hot air filled the room. Her hair stuck to her glistening forehead. Her cotton dress had lost its crispness, the skirt clung

limply to her legs, a button gaped open in her bodice and there were sweat circles under her arms. She looked worn, hot, tired and beautiful. “Do you often work this late?” He forced himself to stop imagining the salty taste of her skin against his lips. She shrugged and brushed back the hair that clung to her face. “Only at the beginning and end of the year. And some in the middle.” “It’s eight o’clock.” “I can tell time.” He perched on the edge of a desk. “It’s late to be working.” “I have a lot to do. I got a new kid today and he’s much higher in math than anyone else so I had to fix something different for him. He’s also got long legs that like to tangle with computer cables.” She smiled, just a glimmer of what she could offer. “Surely you don’t stay this late every night.” She shook her head. “Only when I need to. Normally I’d work late tomorrow. That way I can run out of here at three-thirty on Friday. But I’m doing something Thursday. So I’m here now.” She flashed a glance of mock defiance. “I wouldn’t want to get marked down for poor planning or weak organization.” From what he’d seen so far, there wasn’t a chance of that and he knew she realized it. He blamed the heat for what happened next. “Almost through?” he asked. “About another fifteen minutes. I just need to put something up on the board for tomorrow.” “Put it up then and we can go out for pizza. You do eat pizza?” he asked in response to her staring silence. “As long as it doesn’t come on a green plastic cafeteria tray.” “Tell me a good place. You know this town a whole lot better than I do.” She turned to the board. “I’ll think about it.” He stayed and watched her. Was she thinking about accepting, or a place to go? He could have offered to meet her upstairs but he didn’t. He half-suspected she’d slip out the side door. He had no idea why it mattered. “Where do you live?” she asked as she pulled her bag from the bottom of the filing cabinet. “Where do I live?” he repeated. Why was she asking that? “I thought I’d suggest somewhere convenient for both of us. So you don’t have to drive across town.” She gave him a long look. “I’m used to Chicago. Driving across Seven Oaks is half the distance I used to commute each morning. But in the interest of gas economy, I live on Martin’s Road.” “There’s a good place near the Shell station, Innocelli’s. We could go there. Are you sure about this?” she asked. Why ask? Did he look as if he didn’t mean it? Suddenly, it mattered very much that she come. “Changing your mind?” Gray eyes flashed at him. “No. It’s a great idea. Bea’s out tonight, so it’ll save me cooking.” While he locked up the office, she slipped into the bathroom labeled “Teachers and Handicapped”. There’d been a dozen cracks about that in the teachers’ lounge.

When she came out, Mike stared. Somehow, she’d fluffed up her hair and taken the shine off her face. And she smelled of lavender. “Nice cologne,” he said. “I figured it was better than cold sweat,” she replied with a grin. He wanted to agree but stopped himself. This wasn’t a date. He’d asked a colleague to join him for pizza. She’d recommended a good place. He’d noticed it before, squeezed between the gas station and a laundromat but he’d probably never have ventured in without her suggestion. From the outside it looked like a greasy spoon. As Mike opened the door, a wonderful smell of garlic, spices and fresh dough greeted him. Inside were a dozen Formica-topped tables with half-burned candles in Chianti bottles. They sat at a table under a ceiling fan and he watched as the breeze ruffled her hair. She looked up from the menu. “Before we start, there’s one thing we’ve got to agree on.” “What?” His mind raced over a dozen possible stipulations. “No talk of school. When I walk out of there, it’s over. It doesn’t exist. I’ll talk about anything else.” He thought it a good idea. Any talk of school would inevitably lead to his plans for Special Ed. He’d rather not see her riled again. Not until it was inevitable. They shared a bottle of wine. When he suggested it, she hesitated. “I feel like celebrating,” he said, sensing her reluctance. “Celebrating what?” “That a whole week of school has gone by and I haven’t seen Mrs. Carter again.” He took her chuckle as assent. Two wines on the list caught his eye—Black Dog and Black Dog, White. “They’re local wines,” she explained. “Made a few miles away up the Parkway. They’re good. Black Dog is the red one.” They shared a bottle of Black Dog with their pizza. He’d suggested Italian sausage and pepperoni. She surprised him by saying, “Make mine half veggie.” She grinned at him across the checkered Formica. “I don’t eat meat.” “You don’t eat meat but you make the best ham biscuits in the world.” “Thanks for the compliment. Can that get ‘outstanding’ under ‘other abilities’ when you write my evaluation?” “Only if I deem it an essential professional skill.” Sarah grinned. Mike looked across at her sparkling eyes and broad smile. Her hair shone copper in the candlelight. Rich, carefree and clever, she had everything. She’d probably never known a day’s worry in her life. Why had he suggested this? Because solitary dining had long ago lost its appeal and she was beautiful and intelligent, and smiled in a way that made him want to forget misery ever existed. At her insistence he tried a slice from her side of the pizza. It was a whole lot tastier than he’d expected. “Why vegetarian?” he asked. Then regretted it. He dreaded a lecture about moral responsibility and the sanctity of life. “Bloody-mindedness,” she replied.

“What?”

“My mother’s vegetarian. I espoused it as a tenet of faith in order to make life

difficult for my stepmother. I was a bullheaded teenager.” She hadn’t changed much. “Why bake ham biscuits if you don’t eat them?” “People don’t eat them when they’re filled with tofu.” He chuckled. It wasn’t quite a laugh but the sound was alien to Mike. He’d given up laughter the day he came home from the Administrators’ Conference and found Andrea. He stared at Sarah. What was she doing to him? She grinned back and shrugged. She’d just cracked two years of gloom. They talked about Seven Oaks, the just-over Day Festival, movies, local politics, heat and the current drought, and the virtues of thin crust over chewy pizza. Then he asked, “Do you work every night at that hotel?” She froze, a slice of pizza poised inches from her open mouth. She took a bite and chewed as if trying to set a world record for mastication. “I call it burnout prevention. I work there during the summer. It’s a change of pace. I won’t say it’s easier, just different. Odd things happen in both jobs.” They certainly did. “Why there? I can think of easier burnout prevention.” Surely she didn’t need the money? “Why not?” A note of irritation crept into her voice. “Most teachers do something in the summer. A bunch of us moonlight during the school year as well.” Her chin went up as if daring him to suggest she wasn’t like everyone else. “Don’t tell me you do it for the fun of it.” “You’re beginning to sound like my grandmother.” She grinned and the irritation melted off her face. “Don’t make it complicated. It’s not some obscure mission I have. I’ m worn to the bone at the end of each year. I don’t want to see another child or another school bus. So I do something different. The job at the Plantation Inn is easy and gives me my days free. Most nights nothing happens.” She paused and looked down. With a shrug, she went on, “It can get deadly boring. By August, I look forward to school opening. Call it simple survival.” Maybe. He suspected “simple” wasn’t a good word to describe Sarah McAllister. He wished she’d taken a job at Burger King instead. But of course, she was vegetarian. They finished both the bottle and the pizza. Sarah declined his suggestion of coffee and said good night. But not before she’d insisted on paying half the check. “Insist” was the word. When he declined her offer of splitting, she went to the cashier, paid half and returned with the check for the remainder. With a sparkle in her eye, she told him how much she’d enjoyed the evening, thanked him for suggesting it and said she’d see him in the morning. He did manage to see her to her car and shut the door for her. He watched and waved as she turned back toward town. He started his own engine and wondered what had happened to all the sweet, charming, honey-tongued Southern women he’d heard about. Sarah just didn’t fit the image. He wanted to know what she was doing tomorrow night.

Bea beat her home. She’d parked her car across the drive but Sarah would be able to get out tomorrow without moving it. Bea was asleep. Sarah found her stretched out on her bed, a history book on her lap, dead to the world and snoring. Sarah remembered Bea sleeping as a baby. Parents were supposed to marvel at the speed children grew. They didn’t have the monopoly. But then she felt like Bea’s mother, sometimes. As an infant and toddler Bea had fascinated her more than all the Barbie dolls in creation. Angel hadn’t hesitated in hiring Sarah as babysitter. And insisted on paying her the going rate over all her father’s objections. Four years ago, their whole life had shifted. A sharp, icy bend on a winter’s night and a plunge down a hillside had propelled Sarah from stepsister to guardian. It hadn’t been an easy road. Moving the books, Sarah kissed her sister’s forehead, pulled up the covers and flicked off the light. Sarah went downstairs to check the mail and fix a nightcap. She deserved it. She had half a bottle of Beaujolais in the fridge but she’d had enough wine. She’d indulge in a glass of the Armagnac she’d brought back from her last visit to her mother. Taking a crystal glass from the shelf, Sarah reached for the bottle at the back of the cabinet. There was only an inch or two in the bottom. She hadn’t had any since Uncle Hugo had been over for dinner in June. She could have sworn there was more left. Hugo must have snuck several extra glasses when no one was looking. A neatly typed note sat in each mailbox. Mike was sending a “friendly reminder” that midterm was the end of next week and they would meet on Thursday to discuss plans for inclusion. Sara didn’t want to get into that. Not right now when she was about to ask Mike a favor. She’d thought about it for two days. No, she’d agonized for two days. She couldn’t forget the evening at Innocelli’s. They’d chatted like friends, he’d even smiled when they said goodbye and ever since he’d been as correct and serious as a hanging judge. True, he’d come through her room almost daily. He’d talk to the kids about their work, nod to her aide and usually had a question of two for her. He seldom smiled, except to the kids. Sometimes she caught his blue eyes and felt a glimmer of the warmth she’d felt that evening. Most of the time she convinced herself she’d imagined it. Besides, having lurid fantasies about her principal wasn’t her style. Especially when said principal was determined to wreck six years’ hard work. But she needed this from him, no one else would do as well. He hadn’t been in Seven Oaks long enough to get mired in local politics. He sensed her presence and looked up. Her head tilted to one side as she leaned against the door and smiled. “All right if I disturb you?” she asked. She disturbed him in more ways than one, ever since the night he’d let his emotions think for him and asked her out for pizza. Now she held up his doorframe with her lush curves and asked if she was disturbing him. He’d laugh, if he remembered how. “Sure,” he said, nodding at the chair by his desk, “have a seat.” She leaned her hands on his desk and bent toward him. Good thing she wasn’t wearing a low-necked dress. On second thought…

“I’ve a favor to ask. If you’re free, I’d like to borrow you one evening.” “Borrow me?” He wasn’t exactly up for hire. “Would you be free to go to Tamesha Winslow’s birthday dance on the sixteenth?” Her eyes shone, intent and calm. She was perfectly serious. “You’re asking me to go to a dance with you?” He couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice. “Yes.” A suspicion of a twitch moved one side of her mouth. Mike leaned back in his seat and stared at her. This was the last thing he wanted. No, that was a lie. He wanted her. He just wasn’t ready. He’d never be ready. He wouldn’t let himself be. “Check if you’re busy and let me know,” she said, offering him a dignified out. She half-turned, ready to leave. “I’m not accustomed to my teachers asking me out on dates,” he said. His voice came cold and hard as marble. She stopped in her tracks. She looked hurt. Whose fault was that? Ms. McAllister wasn’t easily toppled. “I’m not trying to date you.” “What are you trying to do?” he asked. “You know the Winslows. It’s Tamesha’s seventeenth birthday. They’ve invited me and I’d rather go to a dance with someone than alone. You seemed to get on with them that afternoon at the club. They’re nice people, much nicer than a lot of people in this town. It should be a good evening. Plus you’ll have the pleasure of my company which isn’t to be sneezed at and I’m a pretty good dancer, too.” She paused, just a beat, before she asked, “Do you dance?” He bet she was a good dancer—she’d probably had lessons at the country club in eighth grade. She’d be graceful and light and he wanted to hold her close and feel her body against his. He half-thrust the thought away. Then decided to leap in. He wasn’t using common sense but what good had it done him so far in life? “Sounds interesting,” he said, “I’ll look forward to it. The sixteenth you said?” Her smile crinkled the corners of her eyes and put a dimple in her right cheek. She almost looked relieved. She definitely looked pleased. “Super. I’ll run you off a copy of the invitation.” She disappeared before he could add anything. What did he want to say anyway? Humming as he sifted through his mail, Mike tried to find an ulterior motive for her invitation but couldn’t. His body wanted to spend an evening dancing with Sarah. His head knew it was a lousy idea. Every so often she’d look at him in a way that made him forget his misery and yearn to bury himself in her warmth. Then he’d remember the startled, amused look in her eyes that first night and he’d wonder what was going through her mind. She’d kept her word and never mentioned the incident again. But perhaps she thought about it as often as he did. He spent the morning attacking the mail mountain on his desk. He checked the kindergarten and first grade rooms but never made it off the first floor. He got lunch as usual and ate it halfheartedly at his desk. He shared Sarah’s feelings about school pizza. For the second time that day, he looked up and saw Sarah standing in the doorway.

“Sorry to disturb your lunch,” she began. Her eyes caught the congealing triangle on the green plastic tray. “You’re doing me a favor.” She didn’t smile. Mike knew he’d lost the touch of humor. He hadn’t needed it for months. She nodded, frowning. She turned to speak to someone, her voice sharp as shards of glass, came from between near-closed lips. “You sit there, Scott, while I talk to Mr. Hartman. You may breathe and move your eyebrows and your little fingers and that is it.” She pulled the door shut behind her and came right up to the edge of his desk. “I need your help.” “A problem in the lunchroom?” Other teachers brought discipline problems to him daily. She never had. She choked back a laugh. “You could put it that way.” The strange look in her eyes reminded him of the first time he met her. “I need you to handle a problem. It’s a bit out of my province.” “What happened?” Throwing food or cutlery and “talking dirty” were the most frequent complaints. One side of her mouth twisted as she looked him straight in the eye and replied, “I believe it’s known as ‘indecent exposure’.” Mike felt his mouth drop and his eyebrows rise. He leaned forward to meet her somber, gray eyes. “You’re sure?” he asked. He shook his head as he spoke. Dumb question. Sarah would be sure. “I sent the boys to dump their trays. Scott got up and flipped his sacred equipment out at the girls on the next table. I stood three feet away. There was no mistaking it. I thought you ought to know. In case the girls’ mothers start calling you tonight.” Mike imagined the fathers stalking Scott tonight. “You’ve talked to him?” Another unnecessary question. She nodded. “He didn’t try to deny it. He couldn’t with twenty witnesses. I don’t fancy an outbreak of this. Everyone was suitably shocked today. I want it to stay that way.” “You want me to mete swift and thorough punishment?” “You’re the principal. It’s your job.” “Send him in,” Mike said, after a second’s pause. She was right. Justice needed to be immediate and certain. Scott came in at Sarah’s sharp command. He was barely four feet tall, skinny and subdued. He looked at Mike with shifty eyes as he waited for the wrath of authority to consume him. “Trouble in the lunchroom I hear.” Mike wasn’t looking forward to the next few minutes. The child nodded, looking as miserable as sin. Mike cleared his throat. “Ms. McAllister tells me you pulled down your pants in the lunchroom.” Scott’s eyes flashed from anxious to mad. “I did not,” he insisted with vehemence. Mike looked at Sarah. She’d been so certain. She still was. “Scott,” she asked, speaking each syllable with icy control, “what did I see in the lunchroom?”

The child looked at her. His whole body tensed. “I didn’t pull my pants down,” he repeated, his chin up and his mouth set. “What exactly did you do then?” she asked, enunciating each syllable. “I put my hand in and pulled my dick out.” Sarah’s iron control filled Mike with admiration. “Is that appropriate behavior for school?” she asked, without pausing for breath or changing her voice. Scott drooped and shook his head. “Speak to me,” she said. “No, Ms. McAllister,” he replied as twin tears ran down his cheeks. If Sarah hadn’t sent Scott back out then, Mike would have lost it. “Shut the door,” he choked out in a strangled voice. Closing it, she turned to Mike. His shaking shoulders and astounded eyes convulsed her into silent laughter. “Ms. McAllister, you really know how to ruin a man’s lunch.” “What do you think it did to the better part of the third grade?” she replied in a cracking voice. That did it. He let out a loud guffaw. She threw him the same look that had no doubt quelled an uproar in the lunchroom ten minutes earlier. It didn’t work here. “For heaven’s sake,” she begged, “I’ve just scared him halfway to hell. If he hears you laughing it will rather spoil the effect.” Mike had to laugh or burst, but she was right, Scott couldn’t be allowed to hear. He grabbed Sarah’s hand and pulled her into the closet. As the door shut, they both let go and fell into paroxysms of laughter. For several minutes they did nothing but whoop in unison and wipe away tears. “You’re going to have to do something, Mike. You have to talk to him. That’s why I brought him to you.” She was right. “I think I’ll manage. If you promise not to meet my eyes.” She giggled. “It might be better if I wait outside. The look on your face nearly finished me last time.” “It couldn’t have been any better than the one on yours. Do you train your students in precise description?” he asked, his voice shaking. “He’s LD. He takes everything literally.” It was a contest who laughed more. He hadn’t laughed like this in over a year. She and Scott had splintered his barrier of grief. She wiped another tear away and smiled at him, her eyes shining and moist from laughter, her shoulders still shaking. Then he did something else he hadn’t done in over a year. He lowered his head and brushed her lips with his. One split second of hesitation and she melted at his touch. Her mouth opened to his like a welcoming refuge on a cold winter’s night. Her hand touched the back of his head, steadying herself. She rose on tiptoes as his arms wrapped around her and pulled her to him. Their tongues met and matched, exploring and tasting as her body melted into his. Sarah sighed, a murmur of pleasure not resistance. At the sound, he pulled her even

closer. His head bent to hers as her face reached up to his, a white blur in the darkness. Pulled into a vortex of passion he knew nothing but sweet lips, warm tongue and her soft body against his. He moved one hand from her shoulders, seeking to explore the softness of her breasts. His elbow hit the shelf. A clunk as something hit the floor broke the spell and their embrace. Sarah leaped back, her eyes wide in shock. She couldn’t go far. The shelves blocked her retreat. Mike held her shoulders. He wasn’t ready to let her go. She felt so darn wonderful, tasted so sweet and fit in his arms as if she’d been made for them. “I’m sorry,” she said. Then shook her head as if denying regret or responsibility, or both. “I’m not.” “Scott’s waiting outside.” “I’ll take care of him.” He felt so high, he could handle civil unrest and insurrection single-handedly. “My whole class is in the hallway.” “Then you’d better take care of them.” His hands slid off her shoulders, his palms cold away from her warmth. He opened the door and watched her step into the light. “I’ll talk to you later, Ms. McAllister.” She nodded and whisked out the door. Even the back of her neck was red. Sarah made it downstairs. She only stopped for a bathroom break after her class pointed out her omission. She wanted the safety of her classroom. Shock coursed through her, kissing in the supply cupboard, how sordid, furtive and clichéd. What great fuel for some raunchy tale. And how she’d enjoyed it. She felt the blush soak her pores. “You’re real mad at Scott, Ms. McAllister. Your face has gone red.” Darail’s words brought her back to reality. “Not mad, Darail, disappointed. I expect my students to behave themselves.” What was she saying? The students had to behave but she didn’t? She’d have to face Mike. Soon. But what could she say? A simple invitation to escort her to a dance was spiraling out of control. He’d inferred more from the invitation than she’d ever intended. What had she intended? She should have asked Cousin Peter as Mimi wanted and played safe. But when had she ever played safe? Now might be a good time to start. Mike was waiting, perched on the edge of her desk when she came back from bus duty. He smiled. She wished he hadn’t. Smiles like his could make you forget your name, abandon common sense and scramble your wits. Sara walked around her desk and sat down. She’d be safer with a good three feet of old oak between them. But did safety have any appeal? Not when Mike leaned on her desk, the sinews and muscles of his arms tense beneath his rolled-up shirtsleeves. Those arms had held her tight this afternoon. She didn’t want to think about it. She looked up at him and decided it had been a mistake to sit down.

She couldn’t stand his silence anymore. The fans hummed like heavy machinery. She had to say something. “Coming to the Winslow’s?” “You bet.” He seemed to prefer staring to conversation. Sara didn’t. Silences tended to fill with supply closets and motel robberies. “About this afternoon… ” she began. “I called Scott’s father at work. Explained what happened and warned Scott would be suspended if it happened again. Marianne typed a letter to confirm. It went out with the afternoon mail.” Sarah hadn’t been thinking about Scott. “Thanks.” “Anytime. You were right to bring him. The incident gets more disturbing the longer I think about it.” Only Scott? Hadn’t the sequel disturbed him? It had effectively rendered her inefficient all afternoon. And if he didn’t get out soon she’d be unable to write coherent lesson plans. “There are some things we need to talk about.” He paused. Sarah felt her stomach flip, roll over and drop to her knees. “How about you stop by the office on your way out and we’ll go back to Innocelli’s.” “I can’t. Not tonight.” He leaned a little more weight on his hands and watched her. His eyes could fill any silence. “I promised Bea we’d cook steaks tonight.” “Can’t a seventeen-year-old fix her own steak?” “She can and often does.” It was a lie. Bea’s notion of cooking was nuking Lean Cuisine in the microwave. “She’s leaving tomorrow afternoon to spend the weekend in Richmond. I want to spend tonight with her.” “Fine. If she’s gone all weekend you can have dinner with me on Saturday.” “Ever thought of asking, rather than announcing?” “I am asking. You’re evading.” “I’m not.” Her denial came just a second too fast to be true. “Saturday then. A nice, quiet dinner so we can talk.” She nodded. Then shook her head. His scrutiny gave her shivers. “Saturday’s fine but it will have to be late.” “Got to call and check up on Bea?” “Don’t be silly. Grandmother’s having people for drinks. I have to make an appearance. I can meet you about eight-thirty or nine.” “Eight-thirty. At your house or your grandmother’s?” She smiled at that. “Mine. I’ll give you directions.” He stood up, leaving two damp handprints on the wood. “Put it in my box with the invitation. I’ll look forward to the weekend.” He might. She wasn’t so sure. She could handle a dance with a couple of hundred other people. But a tête-à-tête dinner? Perhaps she’d give him wrong directions and let him get lost. Something told her Mike Hartman already knew the way.

Chapter Four

Eight-thirty-five. Mike waited at the top of the curving drive, leaning against the car and staring up at her house. He imagined it on a calendar or travel brochure. He half-expected to need a ticket to walk up to the wide, pillared porch. He looked at his watch. Eight-thirty-seven. Where was she? He’d practically had to mortgage his soul to get the nine o’clock reservation at Catfish Alley. If she didn’t turn up soon, they’d never make it. Eight thirty-nine. The unmistakable hum of a Volvo. With a wave, she pulled across the drive, parked beside him and hopped out. “Sorry I’m late.” It didn’t matter. Not when she stood there, beautiful in a red dress that swirled around her calves. “You chose your dress to match my car.” “Yes, and my shoes to match your tires.” She chuckled and wiggled a foot to show her patent sandals. Her ankles came up to the standard of the rest of her. She made him smile. She made him forget misery. She wiped out the last two years. She frightened him. Horror, death and grief couldn’t, shouldn’t be erased by a beautiful smile and shining gray eyes. She sat close enough to touch. But he wouldn’t. Her perfume reminded him of summer afternoons. Her smile offered warmth to a frozen heart. This evening was to discuss the events of Thursday in a neutral atmosphere. Who was he trying to kid? The parking lot resembled the forecourt of an upscale car dealer. Mike parked between a Mercedes and a Jaguar. She beat him out of the car. As he locked up, she walked around, admiring it. “I like your car. It’s not every day you see a Karmann Ghia in Seven Oaks.” “Not everyone who recognizes it.” Was she a car buff? “My mother had one. All the other mothers had station wagons. I used to fantasize about being picked up in a big Ford wagon or one of those vans with a double row of seats.” She smiled, just halfway. “I bet you pestered her to drive it when you got older.” The smile flickered out. She shook her head. “My mother had gone by then. I learned on my stepmother’s car, until I wrapped it around the gatepost at the end of the drive.” “And got grounded for twenty years?” “No. My father bought me my own car and told me all future damage would be paid out of my college money.” And he’d bought his first car in graduate school, after months of long nights waiting tables. “How did you discover Catfish’s?”

“I asked around the Athletic Club. I don’t like Chinese. You’d starve at the Aberdeen Angus. That left here.” “Noble, but unnecessary. They know me at the Aberdeen Angus. They always manage a vegetable plate.” They also knew her at Catfish Alley. Broad smiles greeted her. “Ms. McAllister”, “Sarah”, “Mizz Sarah.” A waiter, the maitre d’ and the gray-haired cashier all met her “hello” with enthusiasm. “Sarah, have a drink while we find you a table.” The maitre d’ waved to the bar where a score of catfish swam behind a green glass wall. “I think we have one, Louis.” Sarah glanced at Mike. It was high time he took over. The rate things were going, she’d be putting this meal on her personal account. “Yes. I called Friday. Hartman.” “Ah, Mr. Hartman.” Louis’s practiced eye scanned the card at his post. He smiled. Mike guessed his table-worthiness had increased tenfold. “If you’ll give us fifteen minutes, Sir. We’ll have your table ready. Would you prefer upstairs?” They hadn’t offered him any choice on the phone. He glanced at Sarah. She looked amused. “Downstairs will be fine, Louis.” “Upstairs is dark and discreet. It’s for people having affairs or getting engaged. If we sit there, the town will have us in bed before midnight,” Sarah explained as they waited in the light from the aquarium. “Would that be so bad?” The words just came out. She stared, as if seriously considering his question. “It might make Monday morning rather awkward and I’d have a hell of a time concentrating during faculty meetings.” So calm and sensible, but passionate. He’d discovered that. And the thought of her kids roused her. He’d seen it. What else stirred her? Not naked men, that was certain. Should he bring up the subject of their closet encounter now or later? Her neckline kept on distracting him. She wore a gold chain with a medallion that slipped in and out of the red V as she moved. His eyes followed the golden disk. His fingers itched to trace the narrow, metal thread. She leaned on her elbows. All he could see was fine, gold links as the chain disappeared down her cleavage. “An interesting medal.” She held the chain out to him. The disk dangled inches from his hand. “It’s not a medal. Look.” It felt warm to his hand, as warm as her skin. He turned it to the light at the edge of the table. “It’s a coin.” “A sovereign. My mother gave it to me when I graduated. A 1830 George IV sovereign.” Sarah McAllister wouldn’t get charm bracelets or cedar chests like other girls. He turned the coin over in his hands. “Not your everyday graduation present.” “She’s not your everyday sort of mother.” “Would it be too much to say you take after her?” Sarah’s eyes seemed steady enough but her mouth twitched into a reluctant smile. “If you knew her, I’d take that as a compliment. As it is, I suspect flattery.”

“Take it as a compliment.” She let the chain drop. The sovereign slipped down behind the red V. “Do you often compliment your teachers like that?” “Only the ones I take out to dinner.” That earned him a “teacher” look—creased brows and a tight mouth, but before she had time for a comeback, Louis arrived and showed them to their table. On their way across the floor, Sarah waved and nodded to two tables in reply to greetings, some choice for a quiet dinner to sort things out. But their table was ideal. His suspicions were right, in the near-packed room, they had a large table, against the wall, with a vantage point to delight a gossip columnist. Remembering Annie’s comments, he wondered if Sarah or her family owned the place. They hadn’t even ordered before a waiter brought a bottle of wine and poured into a glass the size of a small fish bowl. What was going on? He hadn’t even seen the wine list. “Compliments of the management, Sir,” The waiter said, waiting for Mike’s nod. Anything but tasting seemed petty and churlish. Besides, who in their right mind refused a free bottle of wine? Mike looked at the ruby liquid in his glass, it smelled of richness and sunshine and tasted of fruit and summer warmth. Sarah smiled at him, her head on one side and an odd smile on her face, as if she could follow his doubts. “Okay?” she asked. “Unless you have a problem with red wine and fish.” She grinned. “If Louis recommends it, agree. No one ever questions his judgment, if they want a table next time.” She toasted his health and a good year at Lemmon Park. He raised his glass to hers. He didn’t need wine. He could get drunk on her smile. But he wanted to stay sober. The food didn’t disappoint him and he couldn’t fault the company. He just hadn’t been prepared for so much attention. Two people came over to their table during the oysters, and another couple came by during the salads. Sarah introduced them. They all exchanged pleasantries and Mike immediately forgot their names. Between salad and main course, a tall, dark man came to the table. Sarah looked up. She smiled, almost. “Hello, Peter,” she said. Peter greeted them both with an expansive smile, shook Mike’s hand with practiced warmth and said, “Peter McAllister, great to meet you.” “Mike, this is my cousin, Peter. He’s running for mayor next November. He’s delighted to meet everyone.” She turned to her cousin. “Peter, I’m sure Mike’s on your mailing list. He’ll get your propaganda. Go campaign somewhere else.” The smooth smile never wavered. “Trust Sarah to say it like it is. Nothing hidden.” Peter hadn’t finished, even though Sarah made a point of rearranging her cutlery. “Sarah, you never got back with me about the Winslow’s party.” Sarah’s eyes told it like it was. Mike had seen that look stop third graders in their tracks. Even politicians weren’t immune. “There’s nothing to get back about. I’m going with Mike.” Peter recovered quickly. The professional smile returned. “Talk to you later, Sarah.” A nod in Mike’s direction, another handshake. “Great meeting you, Mike.”

“You see what you saved me from? Don’t renege on me now.” “I hope I haven’t broken up a great romance.” Sarah shook her head as she chuckled. “The only romance Peter has is with power. He’s got his career mapped out for the next thirty years, culminating with governorship. If only the electorate will cooperate, he’ll have it made.” “You dislike him.” She thought about that one then shook her head. “I’m neutral. He tried to finagle an invitation to the Winslows’. Then he tried to worm his way in with me. I don’t like being used.” “That’s why you asked me?” He tried hard to keep irritation from his voice. She gave that question due attention, too. “No. If you’d refused, I’d have gone on my own. I asked you because you seemed to get on with the Winslows and Charles likes you. And… well.” She swallowed the last thought. He didn’t press. He understood. He had a lot of unsorted ideas as well. Two enormous oval plates appeared on the table. Mike eyed her blackened salmon. The aroma of spices and peppers made him regret his own choice of crab cakes. One mouthful changed his mind back. He looked up from tasting to meet her eager grin. “Good?” he looked as pleased as if she’d cooked it herself. “Incredible. Well worth the trip from Chicago.” The waiter emptied the last of the wine. “Another bottle?” he asked. Mike looked at Sarah. “I’m driving. Want another?” She shook her head. “I started at six o’clock at grandmother’s. This is enough.” “Fine, Ms. McAllister. We’ll keep it for your next visit.” “Tell me,” Mike said, when the waiter left, “does being a McAllister entitle you to free wine wherever you go?” “Only here. Does it bother you?” “Not unless you refuse to satisfy my curiosity.” She smiled. The warmth in her eyes unsettled him. “Murky History 101.” Murky seemed to suit her. Who was he to complain? He had a whole life hidden from her. “It goes back to prohibition. The original Catfish was Louis’ grandfather. He ran a speakeasy. He kept getting busted and my great-grandfather made a crusade of getting him off. The successful white lawyer, close relative of the lieutenant governor defends poor, black bootlegger. I often wonder why they haven’t made a movie out of it.” The sting in her last sentence couldn’t hide her enjoyment of the tale. “So the McAllisters champion the underdog?” Her mouth twitched with amusement. “More likely he was protecting his supply of liquor.” “Flouting the law to suit him.” “Got it in one.” Neither her eyes nor her mouth smiled. She took her family seriously. He’d gone too far to back off. “Your family is used to running things.” She nodded with a strange, steady glint in her eyes. “You could say that.” “What about you? You have pretty strong feelings about school. You want to run

things?” Silence. A loud ting as her fork hit the side of her plate. “I don’t expect to run the school.” “Just your program.” She nodded. A flash of anger as swift as summer lightening crossed her eyes. They shadowed, dark and hard as pewter. “When I arrived at Lemmon Park six years ago, I had a room, ten desks, a box of chalk and a couple of packets of water-stained paper. I bought my own supplies. I went to the public library for books. I worked long and hard to build things up. It’s a darn good program. You can’t sweep it away.” “You did an incredible job. No one’s denying that. But times change, you can’t halt the wheels of progress.” Her eyes froze like pebbles. Her mouth turned up in a humorless smile. “I can always jam the spokes.” He wanted to shake her. How could an intelligent woman be so dense? “Don’t fight me on this.” He leaned forward, holding her eyes in his. She leaned into the space between them, lifting herself off her hips. Anger lit her eyes. No lightning flash this time, they burned at him. “Is that why you invited me to dinner?” “No.” Silence hung between them like a November fog. Her shoulders sagged as she sat back in her seat. Pale hands rested on the dark blue tablecloth. Her fork lay, tines up, beside her plate. Her eyes shocked him. He’d seen the same hurt stare from the mirror. “It’s a good program, Mike.” The words came like a convict’s plea for clemency. “I never said it wasn’t.” She shook her head as she picked up her knife and fork and placed them side by side on her half-finished plate. “I’ll never make an administrator. I couldn’t follow the party line blindly while my common sense led me in the other direction.” She pushed the plate aside. “Thanks for dinner.” He accepted the dismissal, brushing aside offers of dessert. If she wanted to cut it off, fine. He’d tried. He greeted the check with relief. He’d half-feared the meal would be on the house, too. They drove back in silence, Mike concentrating on the country roads rather than his confused emotions. He killed the engine in front of the house, just as motion-sensitive lamps flicked on. The lights cast shadows through the car. “Dinner was wonderful. I’m sorry an ungracious guest spoiled it,” she said. “It wasn’t spoiled.” He half-expected his nose to start growing. “Don’t worry about it. Go to bed and curl up with a good book.” She chuckled in the dark. “I’ll take a walk by the lake and settle my sour mood.” “You have a lake?” Why not? McAllisters probably owned mountains, too. She opened the car door. “I’ll show you.” It never occurred to him to say “no”. A stop by the back door, a glimpse of a kitchen out of House Beautiful as she stepped inside, then a double line of low-level lights lit the steps and path down to the lake. A

harvest moon fractured into a score of shimmering reflections on the black water. The air felt warm as Spring. Back home everyone aired their boots and winter coats and here he wore a sports jacket. They stood on the end of the jetty. Distant goodbyes from a house down the lake broke the warm silence. A car engine faded in the distance. Lights went out. “If I spoiled the meal, I’m sorry. I just get wound up sometimes.” “Forget it.” He meant it. This place was too peaceful to dwell on disagreement. If he could come home to this every night, he’d never feel stressed again. “It’s beautiful here. Unbelievable so near town.” “Come back one day before dark. I’ll take you out on the lake.” They stood side by side, leaning on a split chestnut rail, listening to the water slap against the moored boat. “I don’t get it, you have a house like this, a boat, a good car and a dynasty behind you, but you work summers at the Plantation Inn. It doesn’t make sense.” In the silence that followed, he decided he’d just earned a “foot-in-mouth” award. She laughed and didn’t sound the least amused. “You should listen to locker room gossip at the Athletic Club. You didn’t have to take me out to dinner to learn that.” “That’s not why I took you out for dinner.” She looked up at the house. The floodlights had extinguished, only the path lights remained, like a trail of fireflies. “The house is Bea’s, not mine.” She sounded weary, as if explaining regrouping for the tenth time on a Friday afternoon. “The house, the cars, the big boat, the house on Pauley’s Island and the bank accounts were all joint. Everything was in Daddy’s and Angel’s names with right of survivorship. Daddy was dead before they pulled him out of the car. Angel died three days later. In her will she left everything to Bea. Reasonable enough, Angel took care of her daughter and expected Daddy to take care of me.” “You didn’t contest it?” “And provide grist for the local rag and the gossip mongers?” She squeezed the rail with tense fingers. “I’m Bea’s guardian. I get to live here until she turns twenty-five or gets married, whichever comes first. The bank controls the money until then. Angel made sure of everything.” “You got nothing? What are you going to do?” Forget courtesy and reticence. This was preposterous. “I am employed. And plan to stay that way. I had a little money, a couple of old insurance policies that were put in my name after Mother left. I put them down on a house at the beach. I’ll have it paid for when I’m fifty-eight. Don’t worry about me. I won ’t be homeless in my old age… ” She patted his hand as if to reassure him, but her words died in the night. He held on to her hand, warm and soft against his rougher skin. His fingers enclosed hers, her pulse warm and strong. Standing still as a deer in the woods, she looked up at him. “Why did you ask me out to dinner?” It was time. “I wanted to talk about Thursday after lunch.” She tensed. He could feel it through her wrist. “That was a mistake.”

“Was it?”

“Of course.” Her answer came too fast to be true.

Both hands closed down on hers, tightening their hold before she could pull back.

“It was unplanned. It wasn’t a mistake.” Her arms tensed like steel cables under his hands. Her voice never faltered. “Make a habit of it do you?” “Don’t be stupid. You know I don’t, anymore than you do.” He let that sink in. “It wasn’t planned. You were close and warm, and laughing. You touched me, smelling like warm petals and I kissed you.” “Just that.” Her voice came like a dry whisper. “Not just that. More important. You kissed me back.” She turned to him, her face a white oval in the night. “Next time I’ll avoid the supply closet.” “Who needs a supply closet when you have moonlight, a lake and a beautiful woman.” Her chuckle belonged to the warm evening. The same perfume, flowers in a summer garden, she smiled, her eyes bright in the moonlight. His arms brushed past her warmth to grasp the rail, enclosing her. His heartbeat echoed in his ears. Surely she could hear it? She leaned back on the rail, tilting her chin, her eyes wary and searching, waiting, watching. Her lips parted. The chain around her neck rose and fell against her pale skin. His hands took on a will of their own, tracing up her arms, smoothing the warm roundness of her shoulders, caressing her soft neck with trembling fingertips. They burrowed through her curls. Hot silk spilled over his fingers as he molded his hands to the back of her head. A sigh, her breath warm and uneven as a candle flame, then her arms darted under his. She grasped him with a strength that shocked and an ardor that delighted. She melted into him, muscle against muscle, flesh against flesh, warmth and heat against yearning and desire. Nothing began or ended. It had always been. She reached up, standing on tiptoe. He half-lifted her. Lips brushed. Her mouth opened with longing. Her tongue greeted his, warm and sweet. The past, the pain, the loneliness dissipated in her warmth as her soul welcomed him. They kissed, forever, until dawn, until the sun set and rose again and the Earth orbited the sun twice. She drew back first, chest heaving and breath ragged. “Mike,” she whispered. “I know. It’s getting late. If you stay out after midnight, you’ll turn into a pumpkin.” She grinned. “I’ll leap a step and turn into a jack ‘o lantern.” “No.” He tapped her lips. Moist and swollen, they moved under his fingertip. “You’ ll skip the whole shebang and become pumpkin pie. Warm, sweet and utterly delicious.” Her laughter warmed the cockles of his heart. But he had to go. If he stayed, he’d never leave. And he belonged somewhere else. “I’ll walk you home.” She fitted so easily under his shoulder. It seemed natural to shorten his pace to meet hers. She refused to leave him at the back door, the common sense choice. She insisted on

walking him around to his car and waving goodbye from the front porch. It was a long, lonely, drive home. He needed to rethink a few things. His hands trembled on the leather-covered steering wheel. What in the name of reason was he doing? Wining, dining and kissing one of his teachers? He’d come here to bury himself in work and recoup. Great start. He didn’t want, need or desire any complications with Sarah. He had too much past. Too many ghosts and too much sense to involve himself with Sarah. Right, Hartman, convince yourself. Sarah stared up at her bedroom ceiling. Sister Claire had been right about her. She acted without due thought, rushed precipitously and ran in without having a way out. Of course, Sister Claire had been talking about field hockey. But the nuns always claimed that sports paralleled life. Sarah had tried a shower, a glass of milk and reading in bed. Nothing helped. In the hour since Mike’s taillights faded in the darkness, she’d veered from excitement to shock, through delight and pleasure to anxiety and now, dread at the thought of facing him Monday morning. He’d taken her out for dinner to explain away Thursday’s lapse in a professional adult manner and she’d acted like a wild woman. She’d done everything short of wrapping her legs around his waist and ripping off his clothes. And she’d probably have managed that if he’d stayed another five minutes. No wonder he’d wanted to see her safe in the house. He needed a gentlemanly getaway. She’d lost her sense, her reason and her dignity and didn’t seem to miss any of them. She’d better find them before Monday.

***** Marianne unnerved Mike the first half hour. She’d barely put the coffeemaker on when she asked him how he’d enjoyed his dinner on Saturday night. “My dinner?” A sly smile tweaked her mouth. “Sure, your dinner at Catfish’s. Was the food as good as you get up in Chicago?” Mike nodded, wondering how much to acknowledge. “Food was every bit good as I expected.” Marianne grinned this time. “And the company, the best in town?” “Was there an announcement in the Sunday paper I missed?” She didn’t even try to stifle the grin. “Nothing’s private in this town. And if you want obscurity, stay away from the McAllisters.” “And you have your own channels of information?” He sounded piqued and hardly cared. This was ridiculous. “Louis Martin is married to my Aunt Tabitha. Sammy, my nephew works at Catfish’ s as a busboy. And Vernon, the pianist, is the assistant organist at our church.” “It didn’t need a press announcement then.” The whole school would be buzzing with the news before the lunch count came in. He felt a fierce, protective need to shelter Sarah from gossip. A bit late for that. He’d had no inkling of the efficiency of small town

telegraph. The look Marianne gave him was totally inappropriate for a secretary toward her principal. It was almost as good as the way Sarah had eyeballed Scott last Thursday. “Something the matter?” he asked. She shook her head. “Not yet,” she said, “Sarah’s got good sense but I’m still making up my mind about you.” “Could you explain that?” Mike felt pleased he hadn’t shouted. Unperturbed, she shook her head. “I don’t need to,” she said and turned away to answer the phone that seemed to have rung on cue. Mike watched the fish undulate across his screen saver. Women had a way of unnerving him. Saturday night had left him in a confused tangle of excitement, guilt and delight. Before he’d had a chance to decide where, if anywhere, he wanted to take things with Sarah, she’d phoned him Sunday morning and politely thanked him for a wonderful evening. “I thought I was supposed to call you,” he’d said, standing in a gathering pool of water as she’d disturbed him in the shower. She’d laughed. “I have an English mother. She taught me to always say ‘thank you’ after an invitation.” Between them, Sarah and Marianne were fast changing his ideas about sweet, Southern ladies. Mike had planned to say something to Sarah before lunch. But the garbage truck backed up into the utility pole at ten-forty-five. They had peanut butter sandwiches and granola bars for lunch. The rest of the day furnished a sterling example of teachers responding to unscheduled disruptions of instructional time. Third grade did a science lesson outside, studying leaves and seasonal changes instead of planets. The first grades gathered under the skylights in the library for a marathon of story telling. But it was Web and Sarah who impressed him most. They’d gathered in Sarah’s basement room and held a math contest using two foraged battery lanterns. The two teams flashing answers to multiplication problems like ships in the night. Power was reconnected ten minutes before dismissal. He heard several teachers’ voices among the cheering children. He felt like joining in. Tuesday wasn’t much better. Aside from coping with record absenteeism as parents kept children home until “they could be sure the power was staying on”. The cafeteria manager called in sick and her assistant took over, but called on Mike or Marianne every fifteen minutes during her shift. The crowning blow came about one when the fifth grade teachers came to him with evidence of an extortion racket being carefully orchestrated and enforced by two budding felons. The DARE officer investigated and then called in the youth bureau. By the time the buses left, Mike was wondering why he’d ever made a career of education. Then Web poked his head around the door. “Is the meeting still on for tomorrow

morning?” Mike started. The events of the last two days had pushed that to the far background. Tempted for a couple of seconds to postpone it, he nodded. “Eight o’clock. Remind everyone, will you?” “We’ll be there. Sarah’s just come up with an idea.” She had, had she?

Chapter Five

Mike filled in his chair. Six foot two of warm male, legs long as fence posts crossed so his feet rested inches from hers. Eyes blue as glass in a medieval window and a smile that could melt permafrost. Talk about distraction! Sarah fought to keep her mind on instructional models. “We have a couple of ideas,” Kara began. “Let’s hear them.” Mike leaned back, swiveling his chair as he spoke. “Students who come to me for language rather than articulation are seen in small groups. I can easily extend that to including a whole class. Particularly with first grade or kindergarten,” Kara said. “How often will it work out to be?” “Four periods a week. One for each kindergarten and first grade.” “Can you manage more later on?” “I’m only here two days a week. And I still have to see my articulation cases.” Mike nodded. “It sounds like a good start. Give me a copy of your amended schedule.” He turned to the others. “Sarah? Web? Who’s next?” “We came up with a joint plan,” Web began. “Great. Tell me, Sarah, what have you come up with?” A couple of disturbed nights and a heap of uncertainly. Apart from “hellos” in the hallway, she hadn’t spoken to him since her phone call Sunday. She hadn’t exactly avoided him but she hadn’t sought him out either. “We thought we’d work from your ‘homeroom’ idea.” She spoke too fast and made herself slow down. “We’ll mainstream students in their homerooms for science and social studies.” Would Mike okay this and leave the reading and math alone? Did he realize they were doing this half the time, anyway? He nodded. “A great beginning. We’ll start on Monday. I’ll give you time at the faculty meeting this afternoon to explain things.” “It’s not long… ” Web began. “Why wait? We’re doing this, so let’s start.” Sarah settled her class then dashed into the office to use the copier. Mike stood by the phone. He smiled, and what a smile. Thank heaven they were alone. “Thanks for meeting me over inclusion.” She wanted to yell that he was all wrong and the kids would suffer. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and relive the evening by the lake. She wanted him gone and her nice settled life restored. Or did she? “I know you have misgivings… ” he went on. She realized he was referring to inclusion. “I’m afraid some child will get lost in the shuffle and miss out on something they need.”

“That’s your job—to see they don’t miss out.” He spoke gently. It wasn’t a challenge or a demand, just a statement of fact. “I can’t work miracles, Mike.” “I didn’t ask you to. All I expect is you’ll do the job as best you can. And you’re good, Sarah. Everyone says so. I know for a fact two principals tried to woo you away from here. And your supervisor would give you any school in the system. You chose to stay here. Why?” She had to give him an A+ for direct questioning. A straight question deserved a straight answer. “I get on well with the kids here and I liked working for Jim.” “I hope you like working for me.” “I find it… distracting.” As distracting as his twenty-four carat smile. “That makes two of us.” He paused. “We really need to sit down and talk.” “We tried that Saturday and look what happened.” “What happened? We had dinner together.” His blue eyes dared her to contradict. Near pain twisted in her chest. Was that all? Was he so used to women falling over him that Saturday night was just another dinner date to him? Worse still, had he joined the ranks of local hopefuls who wanted to boast they’d hit on a McAllister? The phone saved her. She punched the button on the copier as she heard Mike answer, “Lemmon Park School, principal speaking.” Turning her back on him, she watched the sheets pile up in the holder. Five more copies and she’d be gone. “It’s for you, Sarah.” She stared at the receiver he held out to her. She wasn’t quite up to coping with a parent. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to take a message. But then she’d have to come back to return the call. “You’ve got to help me! I’ve locked my keys in the car.” Tension from Mike, tears from Bea, she’d had more than enough for one day. “I’ve got to get to school. Can you bring my spare keys?” Dream on, Bea. “If you want them, come get them. I’ll leave them with Marianne.” “How can I get there? It’s across town.” “Figure it out, walk, jog, get a taxi or have Debbie bring you. It can’t be that hard to get here.” She slammed the phone down, and turned to Mike’s shocked face. She wanted to laugh. He couldn’t look more shocked if she’d sworn over the intercom. “That was my sister. Not a parent.” “I’m relieved to hear it. I know not to come to you for sympathy if I lock my keys up.” His smile invited explanation. “It’s only the fourth time she’s done it.” She didn’t feel patient or understanding. Forty minutes later, the fabled Bea sashayed into the office. Not one iota of family resemblance linked her to Sarah. Even given they were half sisters the difference astounded. Five-foot-ten, long ash blonde hair and the body of a model, Bea was born to attract stares. Mike wasn’t much up on designer clothes but he knew her jeans and sweatshirt weren’t from K-mart. And the little quilted leather backpack with the mirrored case she swung carelessly from her elbow probably cost more than her sister

earned in a month. Mike couldn’t miss how Marianne greeted Bea’s chatty overtures with bored politeness, handing over the keys the minute she entered and telling her Sarah was in her class. Bea shrugged, took the keys and left. The door closed before Mike realized he was gawking after her. And Marianne was grinning. She laughed, a deep throaty laugh that wobbled her body in the chair. “People always do that the first time they see her. Incredible. All those looks at seventeen. God help the world by the time she’s twenty-five.” “Not much family resemblance there.” This wasn’t the sort of conversation he wanted with his secretary. But Marianne had information, if he could dig it out. “Bea looks like her mother,” Marianne muttered as she turned back to her computer. “You knew her?” Marianne shook her head. “She was a couple of years older than me. I knew her younger brother Ted, he made my life miserable during eighth grade geography. But everyone knows about the Frys. Talk to the principals who have them now, wild, godless and one-fourth of them on probation at any given time.” Mike digested this snippet of gossip. “And she married into the McAllisters. Why?” Marianne’s shoulders shook and her whole body wobbled. “Why does any middle-aged man marry a beautiful, young wife with looks, long legs and a flat stomach? I told you Bea looks just like her mother.” She snorted, and pushed a disk into her computer. He wouldn’t get any more today. Mike fiddled with the paper stack on his desk and tapped his pencil against his teeth. He couldn’t forget Bea. It wasn’t her looks. Despite all Marianne said, Bea couldn’t hold a candle to Sarah as far as he was concerned. Auburn curls, gray eyes and soft curves won over immaculate cover-page grooming any day of the week. It was Bea’s eyes that haunted him. The blank darkness under the long lashes. He’d hoped never to see that look again. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. His imagination ran crazy. Bea McAllister wasn’t Andrea. Bea McAllister was a pampered rich girl, intelligent, favored by the gods. The great hope of her school and the pride of her family. She didn’t have Andrea’s ghosts to drown. Mike cut the faculty meeting short and went straight to the athletic club. He swam two miles in a near-empty pool then lounged in the hot tub as he watched the crowds arrive after work. Peace of mind didn’t come with fatigue. His legs lay weightless in the bubbling warmth. The faint scent of wintergreen soothed but images of Andrea tormented. Why? He could blame it on Bea McAllister or even her delectable sister but it went deeper. Too deep to excavate with comfort. He’d left it all behind. Joshua, Andrea and the bedeviled administrators’ conference he’d gone to against his better judgment and Andrea’s pleadings. That was past. Three nubile young women joined him in the hot tub. Generic secretaries or bankers or rising lawyers, it was hard to tell. He just couldn’t face enforced sociability. Three more people arrived. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he made off for the showers. Two people blocked the doorway to the locker room. One was Fred Pettacci, his

partner on the racquetball ladder, the other, Sarah. Her head came forward as she laughed. A hand clutched Fred’s arm as her shoulders shook. She leaned her head against Fred’s chest to muffle her laughter. A gust of emotion shook Mike to the core. He didn’t choose to think about it but stepped forward into their sight. “Mike,” Fred said, holding out the hand that wasn’t around Sarah’s shoulders. She looked up. Surprised flickered in her eyes. “You know Fred?” “Sure, we’ve been partners since Tim left town.” Fred answered before Mike had a chance to get a word in. “The pair of you must be invincible.” “Yeah,” Mike whispered. By now she’d disentangled herself from Fred’s arm. Mike noticed she wore white pants and a wraparound jacket in heavy cotton. Then he saw the brown belt around her waist. That explained how she’d subdued that intruder with ease. Somehow he wasn’t surprised. They both watched her walk away. Mike’s mind did somersaults. He’d met Fred’s wife Nan, a cheerful soul with two small children and a third one due in a few weeks. Surely there wasn’t something between Fred and Sarah? Inconceivable. The thought festered and half drove him crazy. Later, in the shower, Mike tossed the soap to Fred and asked, “Known Sarah long?” “We were lab partners in chemistry.” He should have guessed. She’d probably been homecoming queen, student body chairman and valedictorian. “You go back a way then?” Fred nodded. “Back to second grade. She rescued me when two fifth graders tied my shoelaces together and we’ve been buddies ever since. We’ve asked her to be godmother to Luke. When he gets here.” Mike’s pulse settled a bit. Fred was too straightforward to have an affair with his son ’s godmother. Fred went on as he shampooed his hair. “How was the date on Saturday? You got a table okay?” “Yes.” He’d have to tell Fred. After all half the town knew already. “Had a great meal. Thanks for the recommendation.” He paused. “I took Sarah.” Fred stared and let the soap foam trickle down his face. “You took my Sarah?” “Your Sarah? I thought you had Nan?” Fred ducked back under the shower to rinse the suds out of his eyes. “Don’t bullshit me.” He came up, hair smoothed down. “You didn’t say you were taking her out. What’ s going on between you two?” Mike wanted the answer to that question. He shrugged as he toweled off. “Nothing. I just took her out to sort out a couple of things about school.” Fred’s eyes oozed skepticism. “Wouldn’t MacDonald’s have done for that?” “Are you my racquetball partner or my mother?” “Go easy. Half the male population has tried to date Sarah. She’s not easily

impressed and now you zoom into town and sweep her off her feet.” “Taking someone out twice hardly constitutes ‘sweeping her off her feet’.” “Twice?” Mike couldn’t read the expression on Fred’s face. “You know what they say about the third date.” Mike drove home, a sharp crease between his heavy eyebrows. Fred’s teasing raised muddy questions. Questions better left unanswered. No one but a fool romanced a co-worker. Besides, he dragged too much emotional baggage to start any sort of relationship. He’d go to that dance with Sarah. He’d promised. After that, it would be strictly business. The way Tom planned things there, Sarah would be so bent out of shape she’d refuse to share a school corn dog with him. Mike decided if he didn’t call, she couldn’t say “no”. He navigated the steep bends up to Fisher’s Lake. He’d been in town long enough to learn it was the most expensive part of Seven Oaks. Owning a lot there took more clout than standing for Congress. Prospective purchasers watched obituary columns and houses were more often deeded or willed to relations than sold. The boy from the projects in Old Town didn’t belong here. But who would ever know that? Mike parked behind Sarah’s Volvo and a sporty Mercedes. Its owner sat on the pillared front porch with a bunch of girls. They all looked alike—long hair, form-fitting blue jeans and oversized white T-shirts proclaiming their wearers’ favorite cartoons or holiday destinations. Sisters of the sorority girls he’d never dared date in college. They watched him with almost prurient interest as he came to the bottom of the steps. “Sarah’s around the back. Doing the roses,” said Bea, her dark eyes deep with curiosity. Maybe he’d imagined their blankness last time. He walked around the house. The late afternoon sun glinted on the water. Bees humming overhead and the hum of a distant outboard were the only sign of life. A branch dropped onto a heap of prunings. He looked up. On the top of a ladder, Sarah’s legs disappeared into a luxuriant climber growing around an arch. Her hips turned as she reached for straggling branches. The secateurs snapped in the clear air and another branch fell to the ground. When she’d thinned the rose to her satisfaction, she stepped down, moved away the stepladder and looked straight at him. And smiled. “Hello. Did you come to smell the roses?” No woman had ever left him speechless like this. Much less one with leaves in her hair and a caterpillar climbing up her sleeve. He stepped close and brushed the insect off her arm. “Thanks,” she said. “I’m allergic to them and they always hunt me out. They’re supposed to be hibernating by now. But one always finds me.” He understood why. “I dropped by. Wanted to ask you something. You’re busy… ” She smiled. “Let me bag this lot up.” Her lethally sharp secateurs indicated the mound that came up to her knees. “Then I’ll take a break.” He held the black trash bag while she pushed in the cuttings, spun the bags and twisted wires to seal them.

“Thanks. Want a beer?” The high, pitched-roofed kitchen with cherry wood cabinets and granite counter tops seemed to suit her. She peeled off her leather gloves, washed her hands then handed him a cold beer from the fridge. Her wrists and forearms were covered with scratches. He caught her arm before she moved back. “What happened?” She swallowed before she answered, “An occupational hazard of pruning. Roses scratch. If you want blooms, you have to accept that.” Her voice faded. The color in her cheeks wasn’t from fresh air and exertion. She pulled away, reaching for the cabinets. “Want a glass?” “This is fine.” In the silence the can tab snapped like a rifle shot. “You’ll join me?”

“I thought I had more. That’s the last one. I’ll have Quibel.”

She filled a glass from the curvy bottle. He’d always thought drinking expensive

fizzy water a yuppie affectation. When she did, it seemed as natural as smiling, except she didn’t smile. Not now. She leaned back in the Windsor chair and looked straight at him. “Just driving by and decided to stop?” He nodded, his mouth on the can.

“I’m glad the sirens on the front porch didn’t put you off.”

“They just made me feel old.” He wanted to bottle her laugh and keep it for bad

days when his ghosts walked. “Try living with it every day. Sometimes I feel like Grandma Moses and I’ve never even had children.” He didn’t want to talk about having children. “Wanted to ask about the dance.” “You are still coming?” Worry flickered behind her eyes. “You bet. I reserved my suit this morning and wanted to order your flowers. What color are you wearing?” “Purple.” Purple? He’d hoped she’d wear red. He liked her in red. Why did it matter? “You want to see it? I’ll show you.” He followed her up a spiral staircase and down a wide hallway, open to the floor below. He stared, speechless for several minutes. The kitchen had been added to the rear. The stair took them up to the original house. They stood on a wide gallery that looked down on the living room, above them the ceiling rose to the pitched rafters. He turned to find Sarah watching him, an amused curl in her mouth. “People stare. They’re not usually rendered speechless.” “I never expected this.” Large, expensively furnished rooms, fine antiques, oriental rugs and gilt mirrors perhaps, but not this wide expanse of space where sunlight shone through clerestory windows. “Mother did it.”

Now he gaped. “Your mother?”

“She’s an architect. My grandparents bought the house as a wedding present. A nice

five-bedroom colonial. Mother gutted it. Took out two bedrooms, added the back and literally raised the roof.”

“She transformed it.”

“Did you come for a tour of the house or to see my dress?”

“Both.”

She opened a door at the end of the long gallery. Her bedroom, he couldn’t miss the

antique carved bed in the corner. Glad she slept in a single bed and unwilling to wonder why it mattered, he looked around. Bookshelves covered two walls, a black lacquer desk sat under one window and a wide upholstered chair by another. He’d noticed the ultra-modern, blue and green dresser and mirror when Sarah said, “Here it is,” and opened a closet door. But the closet wasn’t a closet. It was a small, carefully arranged sewing room with a purple dress on a dressmaker’s dummy. “I need to get the hem up. Do you like it?” It was the color of violets in early spring. He could almost smell them. He touched the skirt, the heavy silk shimmered and clung to his hand. It would cling to her curves the same way. “I shall feel sadly drab beside you. It’s beautiful. I can’t believe you actually made it. You’re incredible.” “It’s all in knowing how.” A blush suited her. And he’d caused it. Good enough reason to kiss her lips to match. As if reading his intention, she bit her lip, turned and pushed the doors closed. She’ d taken three steps across the room when he caught her hand. She could have moved or pulled away. She didn’t. Her body swiveled to face him. “We’re not in a closet this time,” he said. “No.” Still she didn’t move but stared at him from gray eyes that asked a score of questions. He’d answer one right now. A stride brought him to touching distance. A split second and one hand flattened between her shoulder blades and pulled her close. She came against him, warm as a quilt in winter. He didn’t search for her mouth. She found his. Warm and sweet as cooling jam, her lips opened and her tongue welcomed him in. “So sweet, Sarah. I could get drunk on you.” He heard a sigh as he tasted deeper and his free hand came up to the softness of her breast. She leaned into him, supple and willing as his fingers freed two buttons and eased inside the top of her bra, stroking the softness. As his fingers reached deeper, she groaned and pulled his head to her as if wanting to hold him forever. “Sarah, we’re going over to Melanie’s,” Bea’s voice intruded up from below. Sarah leapt back as if bitten, ran to the door and called over the banister. The front door banged as Mike came level to her. She didn’t look at him. “I seem to get carried away when I’m with you.” “I rather enjoy it.” Now she really did blush, right down to the back of her neck. He pulled a stray leaf from the back of her hair. “Sarah, you’re beautiful. You fit in my arms and you kiss the way I like to be kissed.” He reached out for her. “They’re gone.” She slipped out of his embrace, her hands palm up as she backed away. “They could be back any minute, Melanie only lives down the street.”

He knew a brush-off when he got one. He could wait. The heat in her eyes wasn’t the sort that faded. Neither was his need. “Next Saturday then?” She nodded. “I’m glad you’re coming. Thanks.” What she was thanking him for? Dropping by? Leaving? Kissing? Or not sweeping her onto the carved bed? He turned her to him, his fingers tracing the scratches. She responded to every touch like pins to a magnet. “I hope they heal before next weekend.” “They’ll fade.” Maybe. But the way he felt wouldn’t. He let her arm drop. His hand was cold without hers. “I’ll find the right flowers to wear with that sexy purple dress.” “Sexy?” “You bet, with you inside it.” He left minutes later. He had to. He wanted more than he had any right to need. Why had he come? To ask the color of her dress? He had all week at school and the telephone for that. No, he’d wanted to see her in a neutral situation and as far as he and Sarah McAllister stood, neutral didn’t exist. If he had the sense he’d been born with, he’d leave town next weekend. Unthinkable. Impossible. Give up the chance of an evening with Sarah? Why did she pull him so? She opposed him at school and blew hot and cold until his head spun. Games playing? No. Fred called her honest and straightforward. He trusted Fred. But Sarah, Lord knew what she wanted.

***** He stood at the front door, tall in his rented tux and a florist’s box in his hand. Shadows of the senior prom she’d missed? No, a living, breathing man standing on her doorstep and come for her. Mimi would have a thing to say about the rented suit. So would her mother. It touched Sarah. He’d gone out and rented something he seldom wore for her. Lord, he looked as if they’d molded the jacket on his shoulders. And the cummerbund around his waist and the smooth, fitting pants didn’t leave anything to her imagination. “Going to let me in?” How could she not? She nudged the door shut with one foot and opened the box. Pushing aside the green tissue, she pulled out a posy of white and purple violets. As Mike slipped the elastic around her wrist, she smiled. He took a lot longer than needed to, then ran his fingers up her arm. “Scratches gone, your skin’s beautiful.” He looked into her eyes, his hand resting warm on her shoulder. “You are one beautiful woman.” The mirror told her the same thing. The dress suited her. After the usual nightmare of the pattern not working, it fit like a glove, skimming her curves and swirling as she walked. She’d chosen the color to match the amethyst and pearl necklace Mimi had given as a graduation present. The stones gleamed against her pale skin reflecting light deep in their depths. But telling yourself you look great and having a blond hero of a man say it, are two different things. His hand stayed on her shoulder, like a promise. Of what? The silence, his eyes and his cologne formed a frame of intimacy around them. A frame she had to break. “I feel as

if I’m dressed up for the prom,” she said, moving enough to make space between them. “You don’t look like a teenager.” “Do I look that decrepit?” “No way. You’re all woman—beautiful, mysterious and sexy. Very sexy. It’s the dress, now you’re inside it.” “Watch what you say to my sister.” They both turned. Bea slouched in the doorway, frowning under her bangs. “For heaven’s sake, Bea!” Sarah wanted to throttle her. Couldn’t she keep her moods and pouts to herself? Bea looked from Sarah to Mike then grinned. “Just kidding. Don’t be out late, Sarah. You know I’ll worry if you’re not back when you promise.” A fine parody of her own conversation a couple of nights ago. “You make your point.” Sarah kissed her sister. “Behave yourself and remember, an empty house by ten. Not five minutes later. They shouldn’t be driving home later than that.” “I know. After ten, all the drunks and rapists fill the roads.” She raised one eyebrow. “That’s why I worry about you and Mike.” Sarah had enough. “Cut out the humor, dear.” “Yeah, right. I’ll be good. Cross my heart and hope to die.” The childhood gesture mocked Sarah’s concern. “And my friends will all go home to bed on time. Promise.” “Teenagers can be difficult,” Sarah said as Mike’s car snaked down the drive. He nodded. At least he hadn’t agreed. Why did Bea go out of her way to be obnoxious? They turned into the road. “Tell me all I need to know about the Winslows,” he said. She launched into a praise of her “baby” Tamesha and how she’d blossomed the three years Sarah taught her. Sarah resisted the opportunity for subtle digs about the merits of “pullout”. She’d better keep her own rules. Why not let the facts speak for themselves? She added a brief resume of Charles’ climb to prominence and an abridged history of Seven Oaks politics. She never gave Bea another thought. Five hours, several glasses of champagne and a couple of dozen dances later, a red Karmann Ghia nosed back up the hill. Amity, contentment and a mood of well-being shimmered between them like warmth from a good log fire. “Thanks for coming.” “Thanks for asking me.” It had been a wonderful evening—a night among friends, one of her own success stories as guest of honor, and Mike. She’d never dreamed he could dance like that. No wonder her Baptist aunts thought dancing was a sin. Her thoughts hovered on the rim of respectability. They passed the stone gates that marked the subdivision. Not yet. More time. She needed more time with Mike. Taking a deep breath, she closed her fingers over his hand on the gear lever. “Will you come in for a drink?” “Thought you’d never ask.” She hoped Bea was fast asleep.

It seemed he drove faster after her invitation. The headlights lead them up the hill, highlighting mailboxes, shrubs and one startled possum, until they turned into her drive. And saw lights blazing from every window in the house. Mike parked as best he could among the cars by the front door. Before he’d cut the engine, Sarah leapt out and glared up at the silhouetted couple locked in an embrace in an upstairs window and the echoing music that shattered the evening quiet. “I’ll kill Bea. How could she?” Sarah ran up the steps, aware that Mike followed on her heels and burst through the front door. Silence fell like a guillotine. Noise still pelted out of the CD player as a roomful of guilty eyes watched like cornered animals. “Where’s Bea?” Sarah knew she’d shrieked. She didn’t care. “I’m here.” In the kitchen doorway, her chin tilted up as her eyes flared defiance. “What’s going on?” “You said I could have friends in.” “Not a party. Not boys. And not this late.” The two sisters stood face to face. Bea hiccupped. Sarah caught the smell of beer on her breath. “You’ve been drinking.” “It’s a party. You’ve been drinking. What’s the difference?” “You’re seventeen.” Bea’s pout made Sarah want to shake her. But she’d already been embarrassed in front of her friends. “Everyone goes home. Now.” “Why? The party just started and we were invited.” The speaker put a proprietary hand on Bea’s shoulder. It was Mitch Fry, Bea’s cousin. “I’m sure you were, Mitch. I’m inviting you to go home.” “Hell, it’s Bea’s house.” “Watch your mouth,” Mike cut in like a saber thrust. “I’ll be going then,” muttered one boy as he sidled for the door. “You’re not going anywhere. And you’re never driving. Give me your keys.” Stunned, the lad delved into his pocket and dropped his keys in Mike’s outstretched hand. “Mike?” Sarah asked, wondering whether to welcome his support or resent his intrusion. “None of them should be driving,” he replied. By the smell of the room, he was right. “How can we get home?” Mike looked at the worried girl by the fireplace. “You will. First I want everyone’s keys.” Despite mutters and muffled curses, he gathered up the keys. “Right, sit down, everyone.” They did, looking like scared schoolchildren. Only concern about Bea kept Sarah from smiling. “Sarah. Got a phone you can bring in here?” He took it and handed it to a girl sitting closest to him. “Call your parents. Tell them you’re here and they need to pick you up.”

Scared eyes met his. She stared at the phone held out to her. “Look, you can’t do this,” the boy next to her protested. “You’ll have your turn,” Mike promised. “Take it. Surely you don’t need me to dial the number.” It took a good forty minutes for the phone to get to everyone. And by then the first parents arrived. By one-thirty the last “guest” had left and Sarah’s ears ached from apologies and recriminations from parents. Bea fled upstairs half an hour earlier, insisting Sarah had ruined her life. Mike closed the door on the last uninvited guest. Sarah sank into the sofa and looked around at the beer stains on the carpet, a cigarette stubbed out in a slice of pizza and a pile of chips and dip ground into the goat hair rug. She dropped her head in her hands and fought tears. Mike pushed a glass into her hand. “They didn’t leave much. But you promised me a drink. I think we both need one.” He sat down on the edge of the coffee table, their knees almost touching. “I had something else in mind when I asked you in.” His smile could change the orbits of planets. “So did I.” “It’s terrible.” “There’ll be another time.” “I shouldn’t have left her, Mike! Anything could have happened. It was supposed to just be Debbie, Melanie and Susie. The others must have gate-crashed. People at the high school talked I suppose, and Bea didn’t know what to do. Mike, I shouldn’t have left her. I shouldn’t have gone out.” He put his hands on her knees, each finger burning its own trace through the silk. The Winslows’ dance seemed like a week ago. “Stop blaming yourself. A seventeen-year-old can look after herself for an evening. And should be trustworthy. She wasn’t.” “She can be trusted. One of the others started it.” “Does it matter? At this hour of the morning? You want me to help clean up?” She could love him for that offer alone. But she wanted a truce, not love. Or did she? She couldn’t let him stay and see the rest of the shambles. It would take a cleaning crew to clear the debris. “That goes above and beyond. You helped clear out the ravening hoards. I’ll get Bea to help. If she’s not too hung over.” “Make her all the same. Then she won’t care to repeat the experience.” At the door he kissed her, soft and gentle on her lips as strong hands held her shoulders. She was almost too tired to respond. Almost, but not quite. “I’ll be back,” Mike said. “You still owe me a drink.”

Chapter Six “Did I wake you?” He pictured her warm, soft and tousled. “I’ve been up for ages trying to repair the ravages. You didn’t see what they’d done to the bathrooms and the kitchen.” “Have breakfast with me. I’ll pick you up after Mass.” She hesitated so long he thought she’d refuse. “Come by here. I’ll fix breakfast.” “Sounds great. Vacuuming in the nude?” “No. Just waxing in the altogether.” “Can’t wait.” He hung up to laughter like Spring rain. Sarah gaped at the silent phone. She’d never in her life spoken to a principal like that. What had she started? The dance with Peter would have been safer. He didn’t make her smile by just talking. And he didn’t appear in her wild dreams at night. Mike spread honey on his third biscuit. He bit into it, leaving tooth marks in the butter and licked a dribble of honey from his lips. He looked up. Sarah pretended she hadn’t been watching him. He finished the biscuit in two bites. “I wondered what vegetarians eat for breakfast. This beats McDonald’s.” “I’d be insulted if it didn’t.” He wiped his fingers and tossed the napkin on the table. “A breakfast worth driving across town for.” “Come anytime.” “A standing invitation for breakfast?” “Weekends only.” His mouth twitched at her words. Had he read more into that than she’d intended? What had she intended? His legs stretched inches from hers and his arm lay close enough on the table to warm hers. “Something I meant to say last night but we got sidetracked,” he paused. “I want to see you. To date you. It’s going to be difficult.” “Bowl me over with enthusiasm.” “Cut it out. I mean it. We’ve got to keep this separate from school.” “I can be professional. Aren’t you making a major assumption? You’re certain I want to date you?” His eyes darkened like a twilight sky. “Yes.” Her heart thumped. “You want to.” One of them moved. His long fingers meshed with hers. His shoulders moved closer. “School has to stay at school. We’re just for outside. If we disagree about school, we leave it there.”

“Don’t get me in the supply closet.” She had to be crazy. But who cared? She wanted him, in the worst, or best, possible way. He covered her hand, drew her arm across the table so she leaned toward him. “A pact then.” She nodded. He kissed her fingertips, his lips still sticky from the honey. She leaned closer, to taste the sweetness on his lips. “Been here all night?” Sarah pulled back her hand, turned in her chair and stared. Bea stood in the doorway, pale as bleached linen, puffy-eyed and with hair straggling over her face. Last night’s rumpled clothes didn’t improve the effect. “Bea. Behave yourself.” “Was he?” “That’s the trouble with getting blotto and passing out. You miss out on things.” Mike made no effort to soften his words. “Nice boyfriend you’ve got there, Sis.” Bea reached between them for the orange juice and drank out of the carton. Sarah entreated the gods for patience. “There’s a stack of laundry you could help out with. I’ve cleaned the house. You left a horrible mess. Don’t do it again.” Bea perched on the edge of the table, her back to Mike. “What was I to do? Susie came last, after the others and brought everyone. I couldn’t throw my friends out. Could I?” “It can’t happen again.” “Promise.” She stood up. “I’m going to Debbie’s. I’ll do the wash when I get back.” As Bea ambled up the spiral staircase, a plaintive voice called, “I need aspirin, Sarah.” “It’s in the cabinet.” “You’ve moved it.” Sarah stood up to find it. Mike grabbed her hand. “Let her find it. She can if she wants it enough.” “She feels lousy.” “She deserves to. She ignored your rules. She wrecked the house. And left you to clean up. Let her find her own aspirin.” A crash and a yell told them she had. “You’re too nice. She should be grounded for a week, at least.” “Don’t tell me how to bring her up. Wait until you’ve raised a child to teenager. Then you give advice.” He went pale as biscuit dough. Pain slashed across his face. What had she done? “Yeah. I will.” He pressed his hands to the table and stood up. It seemed to take all his strength. “Thanks for breakfast. See you Monday.” “Don’t go.” But he did… They stood at the door. Gloom hovered behind his eyes. She hadn’t appreciated his criticism but he needn’t cool so fast. Hadn’t he just asked her to date him? He’d better get used to Bea’s moods. She had. Sarah stretched to kiss his cheek. Surely goodbye wasn’t too much? She never

reached his cheek. He turned and met her mouth. Hand behind her head, lips hard against hers, he kissed deeper and deeper until she gasped for breath. His eyes gleamed down at her, dark orbs brimming with emotion. “Monday,” he said. Ten yards to the car, fifty yards to the road, then four miles across town. His body and eyes drove, his mind was otherwise engaged. He’d said more than he meant to and a lot less than he’d thought. She’d agreed, but her comeback hit like ice on a cracked tooth. He hadn’t raised a teenager. He couldn’t even keep a five-year-old alive. “I’m so sorry, Sis. I never meant to cause trouble but I didn’t know what to do. They just arrived and Mary Beth let them in. Toby was there and she could hardly slam the door in her brother’s face.” Tears and sobs interrupted Bea’s outburst. Her contrition was abundant, if badly timed. Sarah had been halfway out the door when Bea came downstairs, determined to apologize at any cost. Sarah sat down with her and listened to her sister’s wails and apologies, thinking they’d ring truer if she’d actually helped get the onion dip out of the carpet. “Just don’t do it again, Bea. That’s all I ask.” That and to get to Mike’s meeting on time. She left, hearing Bea’s promises of industry and propriety, and broke every speed limit between home and school. It didn’t get her there on time. They’d started without her. “Troy gave the finger to Miss Jones and Lee threw a math book at another second grader. No blood or broken bones. And Mary balled up her worksheets a couple of times. They’re about the only complaints I’ve had,” Web said as Sarah came in. She took the empty chair. How much had or had not been said? Was her racing heart due to rushing or seeing Mike five feet away? He nodded and spoke to Web. “Only complaints? Nothing positive?” “People can’t stand my kids. If they happen to control themselves, everyone remembers the time yesterday or last week they didn’t.” “That’s part of our plan. To change those attitudes.” “Right.” “Did I miss much?” Sarah said as she walked in. “Sorry I’m late. Delay at home.” Mike looked at her. Irritation seeped from his pores. “We’re practically finished. Just touching base to see how things are going. Kara’s going smoothly. Web has some communication difficulties. How about you?” “Mixed.” Be tactful. Be positive. She wanted to sell her alternative idea. “Web and I had an idea. To integrate things outside class.” “Good.” Mike inclined his head. “We thought we’d open a Christmas shop to fund supplies. Start planning now. Get a float from the PTA and order stickers, pencils, Santa rings and beards, that sort of stuff. Let our kids run it. They’d be working on money, which they all need and it would give them a bit of prestige in everyone else’s eyes. They can choose and order merchandise.

The idea of budgeting and balancing will be new to them. And they’ll learn good job skills into the bargain.” Mike shook his head. “Sarah, you’re not integrating at all. It’s just a little project for your kids. It’ll keep them as apart as ever. They need to do it with the other kids not for them.” “What?” Cold water couldn’t have dampened her more. “You want us to include our kids with the others. Now you say ‘no’.” “I’m not saying ‘no’. Do it if you want, but come up with a better idea that actually integrates.” “We could include some of the other kids,” Web said. Mike seemed to consider that. “Fine. It’s a good idea but what we need is academic inclusion. We’re way behind the superintendent’s goals. Come up with something for Math between now and Christmas. They all go out for any social occasion—parties, movies, field trips.” “What about our own field trips? We have several planned.” Mike raised his eyebrows. “Just Special Ed?” “Yes, we’ve always done it that way. They’re already planned.” Elastic truth bothered Sarah but he couldn’t ban their trips. Could he? “If it’s already arranged, fine. No more though. This is the ‘them and us’ mentality I want to stop.” She’d call the Seven Oaks Club as soon as possible. Her kids were having their Christmas outing whatever happened. Mike stood up. They all read the signal. “Sarah, just a minute.” She waited as the others left, watching, silent until he closed the door behind Kara. “I’m sorry about being late… ” she began. He shook his head, stopping her apology. “Is everything okay?” Concern filled his clear eyes. Lord, was he handsome. She could stand here all morning, staring at him. “Okay?” he repeated. “Yeah, Bea delayed me with apologies and promises of ‘never again’.” She omitted the protestations of innocence. “I’m glad she acknowledged responsibility. Did she help finish cleaning up?” She avoided that one, too. “It’s pretty much done. I’ve got carpet cleaners coming this afternoon. That should take care of what remains.” “Good.” He hesitated, as if summoning courage to speak. He ran his hand through his hair. And smiled. “Talked to her about drinking?” “Drinking?” She’d come to talk about inclusion, not partying. “Yeah.” Again the long pause. “She’d had a lot. Does she drink that much regularly?” Sarah laughed. “Heavens, no! Mike, she and a few friends got carried away. That’s all.” “Sure? There were more than a few beer cans in the trash. There were liquor bottles, wine, you name it.”

“You looked?” What was the man? An undercover AFT agent? “Mike, it was a teenage party that got out of hand. Not a drunken orgy.” “Yeah.” The hand went through his hair again. He hesitated. Good thing. He just didn’t understand. “Didn’t you do a few silly things when you were seventeen?” “When I was seventeen, I worked thirty hours a week in a grocery store. I didn’t have leisure to drink other people’s liquor.” His bitterness stung. She didn’t like the implied criticism and self-righteousness either. “Maybe that’s why you don’t understand.” The bell rang. A legitimate excuse to leave the hurt eyes that stung her conscience. She rushed upstairs to find a line of bouncy children waiting at the locked door. They swarmed in like chattering magpies and got sent out to walk in quietly. Two students who’d “forgotten” homework got a sharper than usual reprimand before she realized she was taking her frustrations out in them. They settled in record speed, sensing her mood, and this left her guiltier than ever. But it wasn’t until she was halfway through reading, she realized she’d cut Mike off and turned her shoulder to him. What was she doing? Never in a thousand years would she be that rude to a principal. And on top of it, she’d been late for the meeting. She should have been apologizing, not snapping. But he had no business making snide comments about Bea. Timmy Mullins broke into her agonizing asking, “How do you spell ‘because’?” Antonio needed a dictionary. She gave up on worrying. She didn’t have the time. She found the time after the buses left. For a good hour and a half, she sorted and stacked books, checked papers and counted out Popsicle sticks for social studies, half expecting Mike to appear in her doorway any minute. He didn’t. But he called her that evening. “Want to go into Roanoke for a hockey game Friday?” She did. It went like that for three weeks. He called her at home. They went out. No, they went out and had a wonderful time, forgetting school and their conflict. Mike took her stipulation to heart—school stayed at school. And he never mentioned Bea’s drinking again. Until the morning of Antonio Carter’s Individualized Education Plan meeting. She was late. Walking in at eight-forty-five for an eight-fifteen meeting is bad enough but leaving your principal to thirty minutes of Mrs. Carter’s conversation borders on professional negligence. Mike hadn’t enjoyed the experience. Fuming would be a good word to describe his disposition. Fifteen minutes of excuses and calming and Sarah had her signature, as well as Mrs. Carter’s opinion of teachers who insist you come in early and keep you waiting. Sarah sent her off with repeated apologies and rushed to the office to grab the phone before class. “Sarah.” She turned. “Did you forget the appointment?” “No, my car got smashed. I came by taxi. I need to call a wrecker.” He crossed the room before she’d finished speaking. She mistook worry for anger. Her neck tightened.

“I’m sorry you got stuck with Mrs. Carter but you could have closed the office door.” “I did. She talked through it.” Sarah fought back a smile. He wasn’t amused and she had five minutes before the buses were due. “I need to call about getting the cars towed.” “Cars?” She looked up from dialing the number. His eyes demanded explanation. “Bea skidded last night and rammed into me. The bumpers are jammed together.” His hand rested on her arm. “You’re okay?” “No, I’m not. I’ve got two smashed cars to worry about, a row of broken shrubs and a battered gatepost.” “What happened to the gatepost?” “Coming into the drive she scraped the post.” A side of his mouth twitched. “Some wild drive by the sound of things. Was she partying again?” Mike’s misplaced quip dug into a sore spot. “She was working on a science project with a couple of friends. It’s not funny. She could have been hurt.” “Instead she got the gatepost and your car.” Anger, anxiety and her own stifled suspicions drove her temper upwards. “Let me be. I have to call.” Turning her back on him, she punched the numbers and spoke to Sammy Jones who’d pulled her out of snowdrifts, mud and flood over the past years. Mike was busy with bus arrival when she hung up and she had children waiting in the hallway. She didn’t see Mike all day but he was waiting in the office when she went to phone for a taxi. He sat in Marianne’s swivel chair, a string of paper clips dangling from his hand. “Hi.” Just one word but it seemed to ask a dozen questions. She reached for the phone. He handed her the receiver. “Calling Bea?” “No.” The question shouldn’t raise such ire but she couldn’t help her shoulders tightening. “I’m calling Yellow Cab.” Mike stood up, pulling back his hand and replacing the receiver. “I’ll take you home. I thought you might need a ride.” A ride from him made more sense than waiting for a taxi but she wanted to refuse. His thoughtfulness underscored her lousy attitude. “Look. I’m sorry about this morning. I was late and worried. I probably seemed curt.” His twenty-four carat smile stirred feelings that had no business in school. “That’s okay. Just don’t give me Mrs. Carter for breakfast again.” She felt the muscles tighten between her eyes. “It wasn’t on purpose.” “How are the cars?” “Sammy thinks Bea’s is a write-off. Mine he can fix. I have to call tomorrow.” “She’ll get a new car then. Must be nice.” His tone irritated. “Typical male! Cars come first! She could have been hurt.” “Lighten up, Sarah. I’m kidding.” He brushed her shoulder reaching for his keys off

the filing cabinet. She jumped back. She really wanted to wrap her arms around him and have him tell her that cars didn’t matter, and to be glad that Bea was safe. A light rain fell as they stepped outside, just enough to need wipers but not enough to stop them scraping. Sarah leaned back in the seat and forced herself to relax. “I think you need a drink. Want to stop?” He slowed a little as Seven Oaks Club came in view. They’d stopped here several times. A peaceful no-man’s land between school and home. Tonight she couldn’t face it. “No.” His face hardened. She hadn’t meant to hurt. “I’ve got to get back. I need to call the insurance and Bea wasn’t feeling too good this morning. She stayed home.” “Again? She cuts too much.” “The accident upset her. She felt lousy this morning.” “Sure she wasn’t hung over?” Fury flared in the pit of her stomach. “No. I mean… yes. Just take me home. I don’t want a drink, your snide comments or your tips on child raising.” “Don’t talk to me about child raising.” The cold anger in his words scorched something inside her. “Don’t worry. I won’t.” Painful silence carried them all the way to her front door. He cut the engine. The quiet magnified the strain between them. The drawn face beside her seemed almost alien. “Thanks for the ride.” “Anytime.” He didn’t even look in her direction. The doubts and worries seething during the silent ride boiled over. “Mike, I’ve been thinking. Perhaps we should back off.” At that he turned, his eyes cold with question, his eyebrows wrinkling his forehead. “I need some space. To sort things out. We’ve been out a lot the last few weekends.” If anything his eyes froze harder with comprehension. “You don’t want to see me again out of school?” Panic and relief threatened to garble her thoughts. “No. I didn’t say that. Just give me a couple of weeks.” His blocked-out eyes demanded more explanation. “It’s too hard. I came in this morning, all bent out of shape. I needed a shoulder to cry on, instead I got chewed out for being late.” She exaggerated unfairly and knew it. He hardly moved a muscle. “We agreed to keep school and us apart. Remember?” “Of course. I’m just asking for a couple of weeks off.” He sighed, a long drawn out moan like brakes scraping. “Take as much time as you want.” The evening cool rushed in as he stepped out. In a minute she had her door open. In three she was on the front porch. He stepped away and waved without smiling. “Just let me know when you change your mind. I might be free.” Sarah gripped the handles of her briefcase. The evening silence closed back as his engines faded down the hill. The silent house waited. Bea’s scrawled message on the refrigerator said she’d gone to the library with Susie. Sarah reached for the coffee. She’d either been very wise or downright stupid. Only time would tell.

Mike drove home on autopilot. He hoped he hadn’t run any red lights, run over any old ladies or killed any wildlife. Adding olive oil to the water for the spaghetti he always cooked on Tuesdays, he tried to make sense of the last hour. He couldn’t. Sarah had dumped him. Wrap it up as she would. She’d dumped him. He’d survive. This wasn’t the worst hurt he’d had. He put the handful of pasta in the water, pressing as it softened then stirring to separate it. As it cooked, he warmed a jar of sauce. Eleven minutes later he sat down to eat and check his mail. He grimaced at the envelope from Colonial Williamsburg. He’d planned on asking Sarah to spend a weekend with him. Not much use now. It joined the credit card application and the envelope assuring him he had won a chance at ten million dollars. Sarah handled it better than he did. Maybe because she avoided him. Or it seemed that way. She used the phone in the library, sending students as gophers to the office and rarely coming herself. She was the epitome of professionalism—lesson plans word perfect, memos and forms arrived on time and her car one of the first in the parking lot. But she seldom smiled, except at her students and the loss of her laugh caused comment among the other staff. The general consensus was that Bea was giving her trouble again. For a week Mike shuffled paper on his desk after school, knowing she was working on the floor below, aching to talk to her but determined to wait it out. She’d pursued him, then brushed him off. Fine, let her have it her way. He stifled the sneaking suspicion of unfairness and read through the latest superintendent’s memo. Just as well Sarah had cooled things off. She’d be out for blood when she heard the proposals for January.

***** “Fourteen, fifteen. You play a mean game,” Fred muttered as he wiped his face. “First time I’ve beaten you, you mean.” Mike couldn’t help grinning. His shoulders ached, his legs hurt, the soles of his feet felt as if he’d been playing barefoot on sandpaper but he hadn’t felt this great in a week. He’d played like a maniac and won. He needed to celebrate. “Let me get you something at the juice bar.” Fred glanced at his watch and nodded. “Twenty minutes. I can’t stay late. Nan was okay when I left, but it could be any day now.” He’d called home on their way upstairs. Watching the smile on Fred’s face, jealousy flashed through Mike. He crushed it. Why begrudge a friend his wife and family just because he’d lost his? “She says to say ‘hi’.” Fred clicked the phone back in its cradle. “She’s fine. No labor pains yet. She’s only a day late. It could be a couple more weeks.” He shook his head. “She’ll go crazy if it is.” Mike remembered. Joshua had been ten days late. Dropping his towel and racquet on the table, Mike fetched the promised drinks. Several minutes later, emerging from the crush with two cranberry-pineapple cocktails and a couple of power bars, he saw her. He knew the back of her head, even though her

hair clung to her scalp with sweat. Her shoulders shook as she laughed at something Fred said. Mike hadn’t heard her laugh in days. He quelled an insane urge to pour both glasses down Alfredo Pettacci’s neck. Mike reminded himself Fred was the most happily married man he’d met since he’d arrived in town. The glasses hit the table with a thud. Surprised gray eyes met his. Her lips parted as she stopped mid-sentence. “Mike.” Her lips mouthed his name. Sound froze in her throat. “Hi.” Her voice returned. She smiled and stood up. “Don’t go.” Fred reached out to detain her. “I’ve got to. Bea’s working on her college essay and I promised to read it over before I go to bed.” Fred’s eyes rolled. “That makes me feel old. Little Bea off to college.” “I hope.” Sarah grinned. “Filling an application is a part-time job.” She chuckled. Something coiled inside Mike. She seemed happy enough here. “Want a drink?” He interrupted, wanting her attention off Fred and onto him. “No thanks. I’m off. I may need to hold her head down to get it done.” “What made her go early admission?” “Grandma.” Fred had her attention back. They shared a smile. “Bea smashed her car. She’s underage and can’t get a rental while it’s fixed. Grandma promised the use of hers… after she got the applications in.” “Your grandmother would scare the Pope.” This time the laugh came from her belly. Her slim hand grasped Fred’s. They shared long-ago secrets that Mike had no part in. “Give Nan my love. Let me know as soon as Luke arrives.” “You bet.” She left. Mike felt as if the room had stilled and gone cold. He took a long drink of the ruby-colored liquid, crunching ice and thinking about Sarah. “What went wrong?” Mike almost swallowed the ice whole. “What do you mean?” Dumb question but it stalled and gave time to think. He hated lying almost as much as admitting he was wrong. Fred twitched one corner of his mouth, nodded and muttered, “You know.” He did. Mike shrugged. “Sarah and me? It didn’t work out.” “Sure.” That one word held enough skepticism to launch an IRS audit. “Sarah thought that working together and seeing each other outside school was too difficult.” The words burned his throat. Annoyance at justifying himself left a hollow in his stomach. “I see. You hurt her feelings.” Fred’s accusation hit like a blow to the kidneys. “Like hell I did! She asked me to back off because she wanted some time to think things out.” He could tell Fred a thing or two about hurt feelings. “As I said. You hurt her. You may not have meant to. But you did. You had to have. The last time I saw you together, her face lit up like a Christmas tree. This time, she

fizzled out when she saw you.” “You know her that well do you?” They were heading for an argument. Was he a fool to fight with the best friend he’d made in this town? Over a woman? Fred’s shoulders shrugged, just a tad. He grinned. “We go back a long way.” Mike wanted to know just how long—and how far. “Don’t look at me like that. You don’t have competition from me. I’m married. Waiting for my third child. My wife’s asked Sarah to be godmother. Remember?” Mike knew all that. It wasn’t enough. “There’s more to it.” “Yeah,” Fred conceded. “ It’s ancient history.” He drained the glass, stared at the bottom as if reading the future in the ice cubes and turned to Mike. “Hell I might as well tell you. At least you’ll get the truth from me. You’re as smitten as she is and almost as bent out of shape.” Before Mike could protest or deny, Fred went on, “Back when we were both sixteen, Sarah and I ran off to South Carolina to get married.” The room spun. Mike’s throat tightened. Every muscle in his body spasmed. He felt his eyes stretch behind his eyelids. “What?” he croaked. This defied reason. Small town closeness was one thing. This approached incest. “Hold your punches. I said we ran off. We never arrived. We didn’t even make it over the state line. The sheriff in Boones Mill pulled us over and we got hauled home. Our enraged parents bundled us off to boarding school and that was the end of it. I didn ’t see Sarah again until I graduated from college. She and Nan got to be friends after we came back here to settle. That’s it.” It took several minutes to absorb it all. He didn’t think he’d ever live long enough to figure it out. “And she went from loving you to being best friends with your wife?” Fred shook his head. “Sarah and I were never in love. We were friends. Both on the swimming team, we spent a lot of time together. Her father planned to send her off to school. She decided they couldn’t if she was married. I offered. A bit of knight errant and a whole lot of sixteen-year-old curiosity. If I married her, I’d see what real, live breasts looked like.” He shook his head. “I missed that bit.” Mike couldn’t explain his relief. He didn’t fancy sharing Sarah’s breasts with anyone. Come to that, why worry? His own chances seemed zilch right now. Fred stood up. “I’d better go. Nan’ll be waiting. Patch things up with Sarah. You’d be good for her.” Mike sat long after he left. Fred had given him enough food for thought to make a banquet, one that probably would cause heartburn.

***** Sarah spent the next two days and most of the weekend practically gluing Bea to the chair. It bore results. The super-polished, word-perfect application sat sealed and ready. Sarah felt the effort made getting a master’s degree seem like licking stamps. “Mimi wants to talk to you.” Bea held the phone out. “She doesn’t believe me.” “I want that thing in the mail. She doesn’t get the car until then.” The old voice echoed through the phone. It wasn’t hard to imagine her hectoring raw recruits in her days as a Wave officer.

“I’ll drop Bea at your house then go mail it. She wants to go out. She’s worked solidly the last three days.” Grandma paused, a little power ploy she loved. “Very well, Sarah. I can rely on you. Bring her up.” Bea drove off in her grandmother’s immaculate, polished Cadillac. Sarah suspected five girls, pizza and popcorn would soon alter that. Fifteen minutes later, Sarah slipped the bulging envelope through the mail slot in the main post office and turned back to get in her car. She almost walked into Fred Pettacci. After getting news of Nan’s pregnancy, which seemed endless, Sarah opened her door. Fred held it open but didn’t close it. He hesitated. It surprised her. He’d never been the waffling sort. “I hope I haven’t made you mad.” Her laugh denied it. But his worried eyes made her think again. “What is it? You decided to let someone else be godmother?” “Lord. No. It’s just… I told Mike about that business back in high school.” Just what she didn’t need. “Why? Locker-room gossip?” “It just came up.” “Sure.” “At least he got accuracy. Anyone else would have colored it for free.” Fred had a point. But a weak one. “Why did he have to know? I have a hard enough time as it is convincing him I know what I’m doing. This’ll add to his already low opinion.” “I thought you had something going between you.” The past tense fitted Mike and her. “Not anymore. Dating and work don’t mix.” The smile on Fred’s face disagreed. “It worked for us.” “This is different. He criticizes how I’ve raised Bea and doesn’t like the way I run my program.” “I didn’t like the way Nan interfered with my patients.” “Fred, go home and take care of her. I’ll plan my life.” She hoped she could. It seemed a right royal mess.

Chapter Seven

“Nan, I’m on my way. Give me ten minutes.” Sarah hung up. What a mess! Nan in labor and Fred stuck at the athletic club with a dead car. Ten minutes had been optimistic. The Pettaccis lived way across town. Twenty-five minutes later she pulled into the Pettaccis’ drive, parking beside Nan’s station wagon. Sarah opened the back door without knocking. The empty kitchen didn’t surprise her. Nan had mentioned getting the children into pajamas. She was probably upstairs. “I made it,” Sarah called up the kitchen stairs. “We’re in the den.” Mike? Here? She crossed to the doorway. Maria and Damian, washed and clean, in footed pajamas, curled up to Mike on the sofa. Maria sat on his lap and Damian snuggled close in the crook of Mike’s arm. Sarah hoped she didn’t look as unnerved as she felt. “I brought Fred home. Nan tried to call but you’d already left. I offered to hold the babies.” He grinned at the two children. “We’re not babies,” Maria said. “I’m six. Luke will be a baby.” “Sorry.” Mike creased his face in mock sorrow. “Forgive me, please, or you’ll break my heart.” Maria giggled. “Yes. Get reading.” And cuddled down close to him. Mike didn’t need any help. A quick exit might be very smart. Maria clambered down. “Mike’s reading Winnie The Pooh.” Her small hand dragged Sarah to the sofa. “Sit down. Then you can hear it, too.” Sarah chose a spot on the leather sofa, a good foot from Mike. “Move over,” bossed Maria. “I want to sit on your lap and see the pictures.” To satisfy the juvenile virago, Sarah found herself touching Mike from her knee to her shoulder. It didn’t bother him. He might even be enjoying it. Damian grinned from his spot in the crook of Mike’s arm. “Pooh’s in his house, eating honey.” “He’s going to get stuck.” Maria had to show off her knowledge. “Huh? Who’s reading this? You or me?” Maria wiggled herself to a comfortable spot on Sarah’s lap and gave her attention to Mike. Sarah held her close, stroking the soft silk of her dark curls. The sweet, clean smell of talc on young skin contrasted sharply with strong male scent. Mike read well. They giggled at Piglet’s squeal, enjoyed Pooh’s growl and listened, rapt, to Christopher Robin ’s sound common sense. “Silly bear,” echoed Damian, attempting to mimic Mike’s reading. “Bedtime,” Mike said, snapping the book shut. “You’ve had three stories.” “Sarah only had one,” Maria pointed out hopefully.

“Good try.” Mike grinned. “I’ll read her two more when you’re asleep.” It seemed natural for both of them to take the children upstairs. Mike carried Damian on his shoulders, warning him to duck at lights and the angle of the stairs. After the time-honored rituals of teeth cleaning, last drinks and prayers, Sarah snuggled Maria into bed and waited until her breathing changed. She didn’t need to stay fifteen minutes in the child’s room. But the cream-painted canopy bed and the rosebud wallpaper offered a feminine security. Mike waited at the top of the stairs, a dark silhouette leaning against the banister. He moved as she crossed the hallway. “Asleep?” he asked. She nodded. “A little sleeping beauty. Out like a light.” “Damian practically passed out. They were late to bed.” “They’ll have a brother by the morning.” “Maybe.” “Not maybe, probably. The others came quickly. Nan was scared she wouldn’t make it this time.” His hair glowed gold in the lamplight. His eyes, blue as a new baby’s, watched her. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever known. And the man about to dismantle her career. She’d been smart. Nothing but hurt and heartache could come from messing with him. She almost ran downstairs and into the kitchen. Taking a mug from a hook, she poured coffee from Fred’s permanent pot. Mike took another and held it out. “Please,” he said. Please what? she wondered as she filled his mug. What else was he asking? “You’re good with children,” he said. “So are you. I’ve had practice. I’ve had Bea since I was thirteen. You haven’t had children.” “I had a son.” She almost baptized him with coffee. She hadn’t even known he’d been married. Not that one had to precede the other. What else didn’t she know? And was it her business anyway? “He died.” Her heart shuddered at the flat misery in his words. “I’m sorry. I never knew. I didn’ t mean… ” He looked down at her with eyes that thawed as she watched. “Of course you didn’ t. No one in town knows except Tom. I don’t talk about it.” “I can keep a confidence.” His mouth moved, not exactly a smile. More… she couldn’t name it. “Maybe that’s why I told you. You seem to understand things. “Losing someone you love is agony, like surgery without benefit of anesthesia. People insist you should talk it out. But it hurts too much. Then when you are ready, everyone’s lost interest.” “I’d never lose interest.” He’d kissed her before she realized. Just a brush of warm lips on her forehead but it left her hungry and empty as she remembered his kisses by the lake. Had she been a fool to ask for space? Every nerve ending sang as his hand smoothed the back of her neck. Her lips parted to mirror his. Warm breath caressed her cheek. She swallowed as she watched his head

angle toward hers. And the phone rang. They both moved. Sarah stood closest. “Luke’s here! Eight pounds thirteen ounces and squalling like a tornado. Wants to know when his best godmother is coming to see him.” “In the morning. Tell Nan it’s a promise.” “We’ll hold you to it. Is Mike still there? Is he close?” Close enough. She handed over the phone, careful not to touch him. She didn’t want to start up things again, did she? He might be the sexiest, most attractive man she’d ever known but he’d come to Seven Oaks to destroy her program and without that what would she be? Just another McAllister. Mike could go other places. Her roots were here. She’d fought and struggled for recognition beyond politics and money. He wasn’t snatching it from her. Fred’s infectious excitement as a new father eased the spiked tension. He produced champagne to drink to Nan and Luke’s health. The three of them sat in the kitchen, drinking champagne out of coffee mugs because Fred refused to use crystal that needed hand washing. “He’s beautiful. I thought the others were. But Luke’s perfect. Big blue eyes. Little fingernails. I’d forgotten how tiny the others were,” he paused. “The light hair surprised me. The others were dark. His is sort of light brown.” “Gets it from Nan. One of them has to look like her,” Sarah said. “I suppose so. I just expected him to look like me.” Fred shrugged then laughed. “You’ll accuse me of male chauvinism I suppose.” She shook her head. “All I’ll accuse you of is paternal pride.” “Remember your promise to be godmother. Nan’s counting on you.” “Fred, how many times have I broken a promise to you?” “Never, darling,” he said and hugged her. A kiss on each cheek and another bear hug left her laughing. She glimpsed Mike’s face and started. Was that pain in his eyes? Of course, this talk of babies probably raked memories that hurt and stung. Had his son died in infancy? Fred offered to refill her glass. “No. I’ve got to go. I’ll be in to see Nan first thing. I can’t wait to see him. If he’s half as beautiful as the others, he’ll be the best-looking baby there.” She stood up. The others rose and then Mike followed her out to the car. She had the door open. Mike leaned on the car, preventing her from driving off. Where was Fred when she needed him? Had male freemasonry led him to stay inside and leave her to Mike? “Good night, Mike. See you Monday.” What was he playing? She didn’t want to break his arm, but… “Let’s go for a drink.” She hadn’t dreamed it. His body language told her that. But she wasn’t that crazy. “I’ ve had two glasses of champagne. Anymore and I’ll get pulled over.” “Make it coffee then. We need to talk.”

She wasn’t interested in talking or playing blow hot, blow cold. “Not tonight, Mike.” “When?” Did he never give up? Did she want him to? “Let me think about it over the weekend.” Mike nodded and shut the car door. She drove away wondering if she really was crazy. Wasn’t five days a week enough? No. She wanted him just as she’d wanted more of a kiss this evening. But she wanted him on her terms and without him telling her how to run her program. She’d been here all her life. She knew, better than Mike, what her kids needed. What did she know about him? Nothing. Blue eyes that drowned and lips that brought you back to life weren’t enough. What did he want? Everyone wanted something from a McAllister. But Mike had no interest in local politics. He really didn’t care about the town. Or anyone. And his son? Just the one mention, no more. Had he been married? Was he still? He’d seemed hesitant about coming to the dance. Was that why? She could give herself a migraine sorting it out.

***** The memo had Mike’s initials at the bottom. He wanted birth dates, grade placement and test scores for all her students ASAP. Sarah shrugged, glad he wasn’t more demanding. A three-day week and Thanksgiving at the end of it, she could handle an extra memo. Web lounged against the drink machine, watching her reaction. “Well? He can wait until after the holiday as far as I’m concerned.” “It’s not that big a deal. I’ve got the information on the computer. I’ll just bring it up.” Web smiled. If you could call it that. “Out to impress? Not like you to curry favor. I don’t care but then I’m not sleeping with him.” Six years had tempered her to Web’s barbs. Fight fire with water, not fuel. She grinned straight at him. “Upset, Web? Jealous? You fancied his blue eyes?” “Touché, but no score.” Web raised his hands in surrender. “He isn’t my sort. Far too straight.” Ten seconds after Web left, Sarah realized they hadn’t been alone. Alice Warner, the art teacher, was bent double, rifling in her storage closet. She’d spread the gossip faster than chicken pox in kindergarten. By the time the tale went the rounds, she’d be expecting triplets, all for a couple of dates and a few kisses. Who was she trying to kid? Those few kisses had burned themselves on her mind and left traces on her soul. One thing was certain—from now until June, she’d have half a dozen witnesses every time Mike spoke to her.

***** No one else in the building used that cologne. Trust Mike to catch her standing on a desk pinning turkey lunch bag puppets to the bulletin board. Let him wait. They had to go up. Thanksgiving was in two days’ time.

He gave her a hand down. And held on. She drew back and gathered up the thumbtacks. “Doesn’t OSHA recommend you use a stepladder?” he asked. She dropped the tacks in a small box. “OSHA isn’t here. Desks are. The only stepladder is Elijah’s and it’s too tall. He uses it to change the lights in the lunchroom.” She swept some fallen paper scraps into the trashcan. Then sharpened a handful of pencils. Mike leaned on the filing cabinet and watched her. After the third, he took them out of her hand. “You promised me an answer.” “I don’t know.” Eyes bluer than truth looked down at hers. “I need more time.” “You’ve had two weeks.” She needed forever. How could she tell him what Web was saying? With typical male logic he’d use it as an argument to run away for the weekend. “What do you want, Mike?” He smiled. Just enough to make her want more. “I don’t know either. I just know that for now I want you in it.” The “for now” settled it. She shook her head. “Let’s drop it.” His smile seemed to emphasize the pain flickering behind his eyes. “Very well, Sarah. Whatever you want. You call the shots.” It took her twenty minutes to finish sharpening the pencils. Her heart ground with them.

***** School dismissed early on Wednesday. Sarah finished lesson plans, checked papers and finished the figures Mike had requested on Monday. She stopped by the office copier… and saw Mike’s door open. She’d seen Mike leave an hour ago. Elijah must be cleaning in there. “Happy Thanksgiving, Elijah. Don’t forget to go home.” “Sarah?” Mike’s voice froze her with the copier lid half open. “Mike? You’re still here?” He filled the doorway. Surprise creased his forehead. “So are you.” “I saw you leave.” “I came back.” An open hamburger carton on the desk showed where he’d gone. Was he staying here all evening? At Thanksgiving? “You’re not supposed to work late tonight. Don’t you take holidays?” Didn’t he? “I’m picking my mother up from the airport at five. It was easier to go from here than go all the way home.” “Your mother?” To avoid his scrutiny, she slipped a sheet in the copier and pressed “print”. “Mimi —my grandmother—invited her. She accepted. I’m not sure which event surprised me most.” She changed the sheet under the cover. “What about you? Going to Chicago?” Copying finished, she collected the papers and turned to file the lesson plans.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Sarah spun around. He sounded so empty. She remembered the dead child but surely… “What about your family?” “My grandparents raised me. They’re both dead.” His emptiness shocked her. She didn’t stop to think. “You can’t be alone at Thanksgiving. Come to Mimi’s.” “No.” The denial came so fast he hadn’t even considered the idea. “Please, Mike.” She left the papers on the desk and walked near him. “There’s a big crowd. One more or less won’t make a difference. If you don’t mind a lot of crazy people, half of them arguing politics, money and religion and the other half eating too much.” “Why are you asking me?” Her mouth went dry as old bread. “I want you there.” “Why?” he persisted. Instinct led her. Standing on tiptoe, one hand on the sleeve of his corduroy jacket, she kissed him. “That’s why.” His mouth moved at the corners, upwards. His lips parted. With one, strong movement he pulled her close, one hand on her waist, another in her hair. His mouth touched hers with the heat she remembered. She parted her lips as he deepened the kiss, tongues touched, warm and sweet as if they belonged together. Someone sighed. A trigger in her brain shut off reason and thought. Heat and light flowed through her as his lips moved. Her tongue took the lead, pressing, pushing and searching but he soon met and matched her. Her soul shook with excitement. He moved a half-inch from her lips. “I ’ll be there,” he said with a hoarse whisper and lowered his mouth again. Her feet found the carpet at last. Her lips hurt, her face burned with heat and her knees felt like marshmallow. Flying seemed much easier than speaking. “Give me the address.” “I’ll pick you up.” He shook his head. “I prefer to make my own entrances. As long as I’m expected.” “You will be.” His knuckles stroked her cheek. His smile promised miracles. “Don’t you have a plane to meet?” She did. Her mind ran in circles as she drove into Roanoke to the airport. She’d just committed herself to Mike in no uncertain terms. Why? She wished she knew. It wasn’t his looks, even if he was the best-looking man she’d ever seen. His kisses? She’d been kissed before. Not quite as expertly, perhaps. It certainly wasn’t his professional opinion and judgment. They stank. Why? Because he could make her forget her name, her mind and her reason. Because she only had to shut her eyes to see him naked in the hallway. And the thought sent her senses whirling. She made it to the arrival gate a few minutes ahead of her mother. Mother! She’d help restore sanity. Mother was more down-to-earth than Mimi could stand. Thanksgiving would be different this year. With Mike, doubly so. Had she been foolish?

It was a bit late to worry about that. “Darling, you look wonderful,” her mother said as they hugged. “You’ve got a bloom on you. Are you in love?”

***** Some grandma’s house. It looked like a model for Tara. Mike parked between a Jaguar and Mercedes and looked around for Sarah’s Volvo. It wasn’t there. Good. She’d driven with Bea. He’d take her home. Tucking the Godiva chocolates under his arm, he reached for the brass bell pull with a pineapple at the end and noticed the door was ajar. A voice inside screeched, ‘Stop, Scrapper!’ and a snarling chihuahua hurtled out the gap. Stepping aside to protect his pant legs, Mike stopped the dog with a swipe of the box. The animal wobbled. Mike scooped the dog up in his hand and hoped he hadn’t killed it. The door opened wide. A heavyset, red-faced man stared at Mike. “You stopped the hound? Thanks.” Mike handed over the animal. He’d rather someone else got bitten. “You must be Sarah’s beau.” Mike wasn’t in the least sure about that. “I’m Mike Hartman.” He held out his hand. “I’m Hugo. Sarah’s uncle.” The hand that didn’t hold the squirming dog, grasped Mike’s with a smooth, just firm enough, politician’s handshake. Mike remembered Betty Winslow’s comment as he followed Hugo through the marble-floored foyer and into a vast living room. A woman, she had to be “Mimi”, presided from the wingback chair by the fireplace. She reminded him of the Statue of Liberty except she’d never be caught in public wearing a bed sheet. She sat erect in the solid chair. Iron-gray hair styled in careful waves framed her chiseled face. She could have been sixty or ninety. He couldn’t tell. “You’re Michael Hartman. Sarah told me to expect you. I’m also Sarah McAllister.” She held out a long, wrinkled hand with two large emeralds and brown liver spots. Mike almost bowed over it. “Thanks for inviting me,” he said as he shook it. “Sarah should be here to introduce you. She’s probably waiting while Bea finds a contact or a lost earring.” Mike considered it more than likely. Sarah the matriarch proceeded to introduce everyone in the room. Mike remembered Hugo and Peter, the hopeful politician he’d met at Catfish’s. And Hugo’s son and daughter-in-law whose names he instantly forgot. He managed to identify Hugo ’s grandchildren—a boy and girl called Lindsay and Taylor but couldn’t decide which was which. Someone tucked a silver glass in his hand. “Mint julep okay?” a young man asked. “We could manage straight bourbon but this is Mimi’s special.” Mike took the frosted silver glass. He’d imagined mint juleps existed only in nostalgic literature. He sipped the strangely sweet drink. Odd, but he liked it. So, by the look of the room, did everyone else. Two women came in carrying platters of ham biscuits and bowls of nuts. One Mike guessed was the family maid. The other, he didn’t need to guess. In poor light, he’d

have mistaken her for Sarah but gray hairs sprinkled the auburn and she was a little taller. She straightened from placing the food on the coffee table. “You’re Sarah’s mother.” Mike knew where Sarah got her smile from. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said. He wondered what she’d heard. Old Sarah couldn’t be left out. “Michael, let me introduce my daughter-in-law Lady Fawcett.” First a miniature mutt then mint juleps, now nobility. Sarah hadn’t prepared him for the half. Lady Fawcett grinned. Eyes that had lived met his. “Call me Julia,” she said. “Everyone else does.” Peter, at Mike’s elbow, asked his opinion on block scheduling. “Go away, Peter,” Julia said. “I want to ask Mike a lot of personal questions before Sarah gets here.” She drew him over to the second fireplace in the room. A sheaf of eucalyptus and money plant filled the empty grate. A French clock ticked on the mantle and a brass fender surrounded the stone grate. “She’s late.” “What? Who?” Mike started. Had this woman read his mind? “My daughter Sarah. Remember? She invited you.” “Yes, she did. She took pity on me being alone over the holiday. Kind of her.” “Sarah is kindhearted, yes. But you’re the first lonely person she’s invited. You can’t blame everyone wondering.” He didn’t. He wondered himself. “We work together.” That was safe enough. “Yes.” Julia paused, as if weighing up her words. “I think Sarah puts too much heart into her work. It’s her baby. Her world.” “Has Sarah talked about me?” “Very little. She didn’t have to. Don’t hurt her if you can avoid it.” “You think I’m planning on it?” She might be Sarah’s mother but this was a bit much. “Most men do it without planning.” Was that true? He’d broken Andrea’s heart. Julia touched his arm. “I’ve upset you. I’ m sorry. Sarah would say I should ‘butt out’. She’s probably right.” “That sounds more like Bea.” She’d given her laugh to Sarah, too. “The one and only Beatrice. Something, isn’t she?” Mike agreed. He liked Julia Fawcett. It wasn’t just her accent. She charmed and intrigued him. He had to keep reminding himself that she’d walked out on a twelve-year-old daughter. A noise at the door, a yap from Scrapper, a bright voice called, “Da, da! We’re here.” Everyone turned as Bea made her entrance. Long blonde hair, a purple leather miniskirt and a full-sleeved cream blouse. “Beautiful, clever, gifted and not a whit of common sense,” Julia whispered the words. “But Sarah loves her. She’s devoted to her.”

Julia chuckled, without a trace of amusement. “Sarah has to prove to herself and the world that she’s a better mother than I was.” Before Mike could come up with a suitable reply, Sarah touched his arm. She’d slipped between him and the fireplace, brushing the eucalyptus leaves with her long skirt. The scent reminded him of the green stuff his grandmother put in the humidifier when he had a cold. His grandparents and their three-room apartment, and this house. They might as well be on different planets. “Sorry I wasn’t here before you. I had to wait for Bea.” “Was it a contact lens or a broken nail?” Julia asked. “Cleaning her teeth. I’ve raised a clean freak.” “Better than you, dear. I remember the times you screamed in the bath.” “How old was I? Six months?” “Three. By six months you’d grown out of it.” “Why didn’t you leave her to come on her own?” Mike asked, trying to save Sarah from infancy anecdotes. “Her car’s in the shop.” “I thought your grandmother lent her one.” Julia laughed. “She rescinded the offer when Bea’s report card arrived.” Sarah sighed. “Has Mother been giving you the third degree? Asking personal questions and telling you how I drew pictures on the refrigerator with a can opener when I was three.” “No, darling. Just the first degree. The second and third degrees come after dinner. I’ ll get you a drink, darling.” Two steps away she paused. “Mike, you have good taste in women. But I admit I’m biased.” Sarah rolled her eyes. She’d have nailed a child who did it to her. “Sorry, Mike. I suppose they’ve all given you the once-over. I hadn’t meant it to be like this.” “Never mind. It’s to be expected.” “I’m still sorry. I should have thought. They’ll probably have us in bed together before we get to the pumpkin pie.” “That’s a thought.” He grinned as her eyes widened. She’d been right about the arguing and the eating too much. Fourteen people down to dinner. Mike only managed to name seven of them. He’d thought the staff at school produced a lot of food. This spread made the teachers’ look like amateur night. A dozen platters of vegetables circulated the table. Mike braved the black-eyed peas and the collard greens but hesitated before a dish of green things resembling goblin fingers. “Okra.” Sarah said from across the table. “Try it. A great Southern specialty.” “But you have to be born in the South to truly appreciate it,” Julia added from three seats down. At least six people watched him. He smiled at Sarah. “What have I got to lose but the experience?” he questioned, and deposited a green pod on his plate. The look of it inclined him to agree with Julia. He dreaded having to eat it under all this scrutiny but

Bea provided a diversion. “Grandma, I’m spending this evening with Grandmother Fry.” Ten seconds of silence. The old woman at the head of the table drew her shoulders square and fixed her granddaughter with steel hard eyes. “You will not. You spend Thanksgiving with your family.” The entire table waited. “The Frys happen to be my family, too.” Red-faced but with a set jaw, Bea refused to concede. “How are you getting there? Walking?” “I can always call Mitch or Bubba. They’ll get me.” A stroke or a heart attack seemed likely. Food and cutlery sat forgotten in front of everyone. “Why not let her go, Mimi?” If Sarah had used a megaphone, she’d not have more attention. “She’s spending the day with us. A couple of hours there won’t hurt.” No one shared Sarah’s liberal attitude. Were the Frys thieves and horse rustlers? What was the objection? Mike remembered Marianne’s comments. Perhaps Old Sarah had a point. “Go then.” No consent could be more grudgingly given. “How are you getting there? Bouncing in an old pickup?” Mike felt tempted to offer his car. But remembered Bea’s driving abilities. Eye signals passed between Sarah and Bea. Bea picked up her fork and took a mouthful of sweet potato casserole, a female cousin down the table asked a question about the cranberry sauce and the moment passed. After the pumpkin pie and coffee, Julia took Mike’s elbow. “I have this foul habit of smoking. In this house I’m banished outside. Keep me company.” Standing outside in the sunshine, Mike marveled at the warmth. He could get used to no topcoats in November. “I think it must be your doing.” Julia took a long drag on her cigarette and exhaled slowly like a true addict. “What?” “That historic clash between the Sarahs. I never thought I’d live to see it. She’s got more spunk than her father ever had. Mind you I’ve been away a lot and my Sarah is stubborn.” “I’ve noticed the trait.” “Not a compliant employee, then?” “She has fixed ideas and doesn’t mind defending them.” “Stubborn as a drunken fool? She hasn’t changed. She was born that way.” He didn’t doubt it. “Have you slept with her yet?” Mike almost choked on his after-dinner mint. “I think perhaps you’re mistaken about Sarah and myself.” The woman had gone from conversational to confrontational without missing a beat.

Her eyes crinkled as her mouth twitched. “I see you shock as easily as any good old Southern boy. I thought Chicago was a tough town?” “Tough maybe, but we put doors on our bedrooms.” Her eyes gleamed with the same light as Sarah’s. “Nice. A very dignified put-down. I’ll borrow that if I may.” She took another slow taste of the cigarette then ground it out on the brick patio. “Sarah’s got it bad. Let her down gently when it’s over.” This conversation couldn’t be real. He was hallucinating after eating okra. “I’ve shocked you.” Stunned and irritated might be more accurate. “You have the wrong idea.”

“I think not.” She walked back through the French doors and left him standing.

Sarah stepped through a couple of minutes later. “Mother has been giving you a hard time?” It wasn’t her mother who made him hard. “Did she give a long lecture on doing right by her daughter?” “She’s outspoken.”

“That’s one way of putting it. Grandma calls it ‘blabber mouth’. But that’s nothing to

what she used to call Angel.” He could imagine it from the old woman’s reaction at dinner. “Is Bea going?” “We’re playing cards, then she’s leaving. I gave her my car keys.” Somehow that didn’t surprise him. “I’ll take you home.” “I’m counting on it.” So, he decided, was he.

Chapter Eight Sarah sensed the relief oozing out of Mike’s muscles. Had her invitation been a mistake? He’d barely said three sentences since they left. The night quiet closed around the car like a welcoming blanket after the noise and chatter of the day. “Mike?” He turned and smiled, just a ghost of a smile before the interior light cut out. “Thanks for today, Sarah,” he whispered in the dark. She leaned toward him, her heart thumping like tribal drums. He turned. His lips met hers full on. Her mouth opened in surprise as his hand warmed the nape of her neck then slid between her curls to cradle the back of her head. He kissed her slowly, their lips moving in a leisurely dance, their tongues barely touching as if tasting before the feast. His fingers moved in her hair like a breeze through meadow grass. She sighed. They kissed again. Harder. Faster. It didn’t take her breath away. It gave her air, and space and strength. Kissed like that, she could fly through the heavens, circle the stars and tussle comets. “Come inside.” He didn’t take second asking. Maybe he locked the car. His hand closed over hers as she fished her key from her pocket. He closed the door behind them. The click of the lock echoed in the empty house. The grate stood dark and cold, flanked by the overstuffed sofas. Two minutes earlier, she’d been so certain. Now doubts hit like hailstones. “Want a drink?” She took half a step toward the chrome and glass cabinet. Mike stopped her. Gentle fingers clamped her wrist like steel. “A drink isn’t what I need.” Her heart stopped. And started twice as fast. His eyes poured need into hers. Half a step closer. His eyes darkened. The heat from his skin fueled her own need. “Forget drinks.” It came like a command. “Mike?” What was she asking? He nodded. She never saw him move. She hadn’t. But they touched. Not hands, but bodies. She melted against his body like a candle in the sun. She pressed her breasts against the warmth of his jacket, her legs against his and her arms wrapped his broad back. “You really mean this don’t you, Sarah?” She had no breath to answer. She smiled instead. His mouth came as she lifted her face to him. Heat, warmth and sweetness flowed through her soul. She wanted to kiss until morning. No. Kissing would never be enough. “Let’s go upstairs.” She grinned. She thought he’d never ask. He led her up the wide staircase to the gallery. At the top he hesitated. “We came up the other stairs before. I’ve lost my bearings.”

“Ball bearings.” The words slipped out. Her face burned. He threw back his head and laughed. “You’ll have to find out.” “I hope so.” She didn’t stop to think twice about that one. Hand on the door she paused. Had she left the room tidy? She hadn’t though of this when she’d rushed out fussing at Bea about fifteen minute teeth cleaning. She hadn’t thought of precautions either. She hoped he had. He flicked the switch. Recessed lights came on over the bed. “Nice,” he said, sliding a hand over her shoulder to cup her breast. More like delectable. His lips nibbled her ear. “Sheer ambrosia.” “We have that at Christmas.” She’d better cut out the wisecracks or he’d guess how unused she was to this. “I’m glad you came,” she whispered and reached up. This time she kissed him, summoning all the passion, heat and want her soul could muster. One hand pulled her close and the other found the zipper down her back. Strong hand against smooth skin, warmth flooding her very sinews, this kiss left her imagination behind. The pulse in his neck thumped under her fingers. His warm fingers eased the zipper down the back of her dress. If she didn’t ask now, she never would. “Mike, do you have condoms?” He blinked for a second. “Hell. No. Don’t you?” His face tightened. “I’ll go get some.” She felt the sweat at the back of her knees. He couldn’t go. He might change his mind at a long red light. “I might. I’ll have to look.” If she had, they’d been there since Molly’s bridal shower. That had been two years ago. His eyes bored into the back of her neck as she knelt and rummaged through the bottom drawer where she dumped stuff before throwing it out. Old cosmetics, mismatched gloves, broken jewelry and clothes she’d never get around to mending. She found the condoms at last, in a mason jar with some souvenir matchboxes. She unscrewed the lid and tossed them on the bed—a battered, already opened box with two foil packets inside. It looked like a leftover from a debauch. An hour ago she might have cared. His long fingers curled around the creased box. “That saves a drive around the neighborhood.” Her toes curled. Goose bumps rose like cool ripples up her neck. Her breasts rose and fell in and out of her line of vision as she watched his blue eyes darken to indigo. He stepped in. So close, she felt the warmth of his knees as the flannel of his pants brushed her thighs. His hand touched her shoulder and she forgot. Everything. Except him. A gentle kiss, like a sip of mulled wine to keep out the cold. A kiss that never stopped. Her dress slid off her shoulders. She stepped out, leaving it lying in a ring on the carpet. “Nice,” he murmured, his eyes lighting up appreciatively at her scarlet slip. His palms smoothed the satin, cupping her breasts, resting at her waist then skimming lower, higher. He eased the straps from her shoulders. She shivered. She wasn’t the least bit cold. He pulled back the covers. “Get in bed.” “Now?”

His mouth twitched at the corners. “That’s where I want you.” It was where she wanted to be. He sat beside her. Another slow kiss stopped time as his hands cupped and squeezed her breasts. She wanted more. One deft movement unhooked her bra. A warm hand cupped her breast—she sighed, closed her eyes, leaned against the oak-hard muscle of his chest and let her body meld into his. Her slip hung around her waist. Her lace bra disappeared. His arms pressed her down against the pillows. Without a word or whisper, she knew to lift her hips as he smoothed her pantyhose and briefs down her legs and she was free of everything except his arms. “Don’t go anywhere.” His eyes, dark pools of sapphire, pinned her to the pillows as he pulled off his tie and tossed his shirt and jacket aside. She stared, broad shoulders, muscles and a smooth pelt of blond hair on his chest. A Norse god, a Saxon king, a Viking invader, maleness and warmth and power hers. His remaining clothes dropped to the floor. She shivered as he slipped under the sheets beside her. A long, muscular leg brushed hers. She reached out to him, rubbed her cheek against the rough softness of his chest and shut her eyes to better know his scent, his warmth and his skin. “Sarah, you’re beautiful.” He rolled her back on the pillows. Hand on her breast, lips moist and warm, following where his hands led. She moaned as his jaw closed to suckle her breast. When she could stand no more, his lips moved, to draw her other breast into his mouth. She lost track of time. Minutes, hours, seconds, she’d never know. She heard moans and sighs from deep within, echoes from her heart. His hands warmed and caressed. His lips tasted and teased. Her mouth opened under his until her lips took on a life of their own. His tongue followed the dance she led. Her heart warmed, her soul soared and her body molded into his. His palm molded against her mound. She wriggled as her pressed on her. The sweet ache, how she wanted more. His fingers moved, slow as a winter dawn, but spreading the warmth of Spring. He smoothed and parted, and traced the outlines of her secret places. Her body arched to follow his trailing fingers. He dipped inside. “Sarah, Sarah. So warm and moist. You’re ready.” She’d been ready all her life. “Mike, please,” she begged, her need adding rasp and hoarseness to her whisper. “Please, what?” he asked, slipping his fingers deeper. She could only groan. If she spoke, she’d scream or swear. She reached out for him. Her fist closed around maleness, hardness and warmth. She looked down at the prize in her hand. Then up to see the glaze of need on his face. Something snapped. They kissed with a fire and hunger that engulfed them both. He lay between her legs. Her thighs spread wider to welcome him in. He leaned over her, his weight on his hands. He pressed against her, nudging her belly, her soft mound of hair and her waiting warmth. Unable to wait she reached down and guided him. He paused then slipped inside, she sighed and tightened her warmth around his strength. The dance began. The age-old dance that only they had ever trod. They moved together, reaching for each other’s souls. As their passion rose, they sped. He drove into

her with gentleness. She rose and fell like the waves on the beach or branches in the wind. No will, no needs, no wants but loving. Her body took over, arching, twisting, writhing in ways she’d never known. She moaned, she cried. He pulled her with him to the heavens. She shouted aloud in triumph as he called her name. They collapsed in a sweating, satisfied tangle between the linen sheets. Sarah pulled him close. His racing heartbeat matched her own. “Mike,” she whispered with her last breath, “that was wonderful.” She wanted to laugh, to yell, to stand at her open window and shout her triumph to the stars. She’d waited thirty years for this and it had been worth every lonely moment. She snuggled against him, closing her eyes to better inhale the scent of man and love. Her head nestled on the pillow, soft copper silk against the clean white linen. In the bathroom he’d knocked a row of cosmetics to the floor while fumbling for the light switch. The clatter hadn’t even caused her to stir. The flush of love tinged her cheeks and her neck. He couldn’t leave her to wake alone. Besides the other condom waited in the box on the nightstand. He could love her awake in the morning. Next time he’d bring his own. He doused the light and slipped under the sheets beside her. She rolled into him. His arm curled around her shoulders. The harvest moon crossed the winter sky. They slept. Her warm hands teased him from sleep to drowsiness. He rolled her on her back and buried himself in her warmth. It beat waking alone. And he’d been so alone. “Wait here. I’ll bring you coffee,” he whispered, her skin warm against his lips. She sat up, the bedclothes falling to offer him two full breasts, milk-white in the morning gloom. He almost changed his mind about coffee. “Wait. I’ll go. You don’t know where things are.” He shook his head. “Water over the sink. Coffee in a cabinet somewhere. Milk in the refrigerator and I’ll recognize mugs by the handles.” A smile like hers could make him forget coffee, food and his middle name. He took the back stairs down to the kitchen, set the elaborate German coffeemaker brewing and found two chunky hand-thrown mugs. He’d look for the paper. He fancied reading Doonesbury with Sarah. The cold air hit him as he stepped into the living room. The front door stood ajar and Bea snored on the sofa. Her face had the color of navy beans. She’d dropped her jacket and purse between the front door and the sofa. One of her shoes was missing, yesterday’s stylish miniskirt looked old and tawdry. Sweat darkened her hair and he could smell liquor from six feet away. He pulled the front door closed. Picking up the paper, he noticed Sarah’s car parked at an angle in the drive. Lucky Bea hadn’t creamed his car. “Bea’s asleep on the sofa. Out to the world,” he told Sarah as he put the coffee tray beside her. “She’s done that a couple of times. I wish she’d come upstairs. The sofa can’t be comfortable.” Sarah held the mug in two hands and sipped the fragrant brew. “You make wonderful coffee.” And she made wonderful love. He’d find a drugstore before

lunch. “Did Bea stir?” Sarah asked. “She sometimes sleeps like the dead.” “I think she’s sleeping it off.” “What do you mean?” Her voice rose as her brow creased. “I don’t think she drank ginger ale last night.” “Mike, she was out with her cousins. They’re a bit wild but she’s not stupid. She wouldn’t drink and drive. I told her to call me or get a taxi when she drinks.” “How about tell her to keep the law? She’s only seventeen.” “Mike, the odd beer won’t hurt. Even Grandma lets her drink wine.” He shrugged. Bea had more than the odd beer or a couple of glasses of wine. He knew that. But Sarah wasn’t about to listen. Did the McAllisters really put themselves above the law? Or was he overreacting? His whole body tended to overreact around Sarah. Why not his imagination? Because he didn’t need to imagine. Not after Andrea. After breakfast, he’d talk to Sarah. After breakfast. Julia beat him to it. She walked in the door just before ten, reached for a mug and poured coffee as if she owned the house. Well, she’d built it, hadn’t she? She sat down at the pine table, without batting an eye at the two of them sitting over coffee. Was she so used to her daughter entertaining men in the mornings? That missing condom in the little, red box still niggled like a worm in his brain. Another puzzle—why didn’t her mother sleep here? Wasn’t she visiting her? Had it all been an elaborate plan to get him here? If so, it worked. He gave up. “You’re free, aren’t you, Mike? If so, do come with us.” Julia’s words jerked him back to reality. “Er, where?” He’d no idea what he might say “yes” to. “Wool gathering.” She chuckled. “You were miles away. We’re going to Peaks of Otter. Coming?” He looked at Sarah, wanting her invitation. It came in her eyes. “Great,” he paused, “I’ll just run home and… ” He ran out of words. How could he say “shower and shave and change my underwear” to Lady Fawcett when he’d just spent the night making decidedly passionate love her daughter? He didn’t have to. “Take your time,” Julia said. “Sleeping beauty out on the sofa is too hung over to make it for at least a couple of hours.” “Mummy!” Pain echoed through Sarah’s cry. “Darling, be sensible. She’s out for the count. When she does wake, she’ll be demanding voluntary decapitation.” “She often sleeps on the sofa when she’s too tired to get upstairs.” “Tired is it?” Julia shook her head and reached for the coffeepot. “Let’s leave at noon, shall we?” Mike hummed an off-key medley of Beatles tunes as he shaved Monday morning. Thanksgiving was an appropriate name for the past weekend. Just thinking about Sarah made the towel around his hips stand out. He missed her. After dropping Julia off for

the afternoon plane, she’d insisted on going home alone. “I have to get some sleep,” she insisted. He couldn’t argue. She’d walked up Sharp Top at a killing pace the day before. He was half glad to discover she wasn’t Super Woman. No, she was all earth. A woman of warmth, and light and love. But what could he give in return, a heart hurt beyond healing and a soul as empty as a discarded rind? And could he stand watching her and Bea, knowing the hell that waited for Sarah? He had to speak to her, tell her where to get help. Her reaction to Julia showed her denial. Should he be there to support Sarah when she accepted the truth? He’d have to wait. He knew how long it had taken him to face the truth about Andrea. Poor Sarah. And he’d thought life would be easier here. Mike didn’t see Sarah until lunch. And she wasn’t smiling. She was nose to nose with a third grader who’d just shoved his lunch tray in another child’s back. The resulting mess of meatloaf, red Jell-O and broccoli resembled an illustration in a biology textbook. Mike stepped away to the back tables where the fifth grade sat and watched. The shover was on his knees scooping up food. The shovee was receiving a replacement lunch, a pat on the head and a consoling smile from Sarah. She had everything under control. A tornado of doubt whirled through Mike. Was that what she’d done with him all weekend? From the seemingly spontaneous invitation, to the night in her bed, the hike and the meals, she’d orchestrated his weekend. Why? She put an arm around the shoulders of the child who’d finished clearing up the mess and spoke. The child nodded and smiled up at her. Mike envied that third grader. A wild rush of emotions and images blurred in front of his eyes. Sarah in her blue knit dress became Sarah naked in the lamplight. Sarah’s face faded and he saw Andrea, warm and flushed after love. Guilt, the shadow of disloyalty and ice shards of memory chilled his heart like a killing frost. He saw Andrea cold and stiff as when he found her and Bea out on the sofa. The two images faded together. A wave of nausea rushed up at him. He turned and strode out of the lunchroom and slammed his office door behind him. He left that afternoon just minutes after the last bus. Not talking to Mike on Monday didn’t bother Sarah unduly. She’d had a busy day and when Marianne told her he’d left early, she assumed his day had been as crazy as hers. Tuesday she found a memo in her mailbox. They had a meeting in the morning about placement of students for math. She didn’t like the sound of it. “Don’t let me down on this, Mike.” Tom Jendrasic said. He’d called Mike to see how inclusion plans were progressing. “It’s going as well as expected, given I have resistance. We’re meeting tomorrow to thresh out the last details of math. It should all be in place by the end of the year.” “Stick to it. You’ve got a bunch of difficult ones over there. I don’t envy you. These hayseeds tend to close ranks.” Mike thought of quiet elegance of the Winslows’ dance and the silver, bone china and crystal on the polished mahogany table last Thursday and decided Tom’s tag of “hayseed” was way off.

“Can you spare a minute?” Mike looked up as Sarah knocked on the door. He felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. He didn’t want to face her. He had to. And he’d probably hurt her like hell. “Sure.” “What’s this meeting about?” No preamble. Straight to the jugular, that was her style all right. “I thought I wrote that—placing Special Ed. students in regular grades for math. I’ll give the details tomorrow when everyone’s here.” Her gray eyes stared, for two seconds. Her mouth opened. Then closed as if caution overruled impulse. She shrugged. “I’ll be there.” She sounded as if she’d bring her hatchet, too. And he hadn’t told her anything yet. She paused at the door, her fingers on the frame. She smiled. “I had a great Thanksgiving. Hope you did.” He had to say it. Now. “Much, much better than watching Macy’s parade on TV.” He took a deep breath. “Come in a minute, Sarah. And shut the door. There’s a couple of things I have to say.” She waited, back to the door. “Your mother’s comments about Bea’s drinking. I know you discount them but I think she’s right.” Sarah stared. Mike went on, digging the hole deeper. “Thursday night, that illegal party—she was drunk, both times. She’s very young. A teenager’s body just can’t cope with alcohol like an adult’s.” Sarah shook her head. “Mike, you’re listening to my mother too much. She never misses a chance to dig at Bea. It’s a bit of jealously left over from Angel. There’s always something—the length of her skirt, the color of her eye shadow or the way she leaves her clothes on the floor. Thursday night she had a little too much to drink. I did a few silly things when I was seventeen and I bet you did.” “A little too much! She was dead drunk!” He shouldn’t have said that. Sarah’s back stiffened like a beanpole. “Anything else you need to say?” There was. He had to do it. For both of them. He walked around to lean on his desk but he felt himself waver before her steady eyes. He knew why the kids towed the lines she drew. He walked over to the window and stared at the trees outside. Stark skeletons against the winter sky, they matched his mood. Looking away was cowardice. He had to face her. He’d made her mad. Now he’d hurt her. Great guy, wasn’t he? “I can’t tell you how much it meant spending that time with you… and your family. But I have to say something. I don’t think I mentioned I’m a widower.” He sensed her nod and the sympathetic glow in her eyes. His fingers tapped the windowpane. “It’s barely been a year since Andrea died. I’m not ready to start another relationship yet. Maybe never.” He wanted to spit. She’d offered him her friendship, her family, affection and just about everything a woman could give and he sounded like an inane half-wit. “I understand. Don’t give it a second thought. I’ll see you in the morning.” The click of the door closing sounded like the drop of a guillotine. The room was as empty as his heart.

Sarah sped out of town, blinking back tears. She didn’t want to go home and face Bea’s whining about having no car. She needed time to decide why Mike’s announcements hit her so hard. Instinct took her up on the Parkway. She drove north, unwilling to follow the route they’d taken on Saturday. Parked in an overlook, she watched the sun dip toward the horizon and decided she’d been an unmitigated fool. From the very first she’d acted like a floozy, running after Mike and chasing him with invitations. Yanking him into bed on Thursday night had been her final stupidity. No wonder he’d jumped back. Where he came from, women probably acted like ladies. She’d scared him off. Even so, his digs about Bea were nasty, petty. Why not just break things off? Why attack Bea who’d never done anything to him? Except perhaps a bit of mouth and she was a teenager after all. He had to understand. No, he didn’t. It didn’t matter a tinker’s cuss whether he understood or not. The sky darkened with the dusk. She couldn’t sit parked there much longer. Her hands were cold and her feet fast going numb. She started the engine and headed back. She’d survived being dumped before. This way she’d have no torn feelings over changes at school. Opposing an adversary suited her better than arguing with a lover. She didn’t try to convince herself she felt nothing for Mike. Prevarication wasn’t her way.

***** Tension crackled like crossed wires. Sarah said nothing. She didn’t need to. Web spoke for both of them. “It’s crazy,” he said. “You haven’t thought it out.” Mike’s eyebrows rose. “It’s quite simple. And feasible. Students scoring six months or less below grade level will be mainstreamed for math. Every class has students as much as a grade and a half behind. Your kids will fit in nicely.” “Until something goes wrong.” “You sound as if you’d be disappointed if it doesn’t.” “I know my kids.” He leaned back in his chair as if defying Mike to deny it. Sarah wanted to scream. Instead, she spoke with studied calm. “In theory, it should work.” She stressed the first two words. “Remember, these scores are on one-to-one tests and they’ve reached that level in a small class. In a room with twenty-five others it could be very different.” Could be? It would be. Wasn’t he willing to concede that much? “That’s where support from you and your aides will make the difference.” Sarah shook her head. He sounded like a textbook chapter on inclusion. Only this was real life with real kids. “Have you discussed this with the Regular Ed. teachers?” Web asked. Mike shook his head. “Not yet. I plan to explain the changes at faculty meeting this afternoon.” He’d probably have revolution on his hands. The kindergarten and third grade teachers hadn’t forgiven their enforced removal. “Mike.” His blue eyes met hers as she spoke. She made herself forget how they darkened during love. This was war. Or maybe, negotiation. “You want this to start on

Monday, right?” He nodded, so she went on. “How about we choose which classes to put them in and we talk to the teachers first?” Waiting for his answer, she stared at a mark in the plaster just behind his shoulder. Cracks in the plaster didn’t trigger distracting memories. “Why?” One word shouldn’t bother her so much. Web answered. “Several reasons—some teachers do better with our kids than others. Certain kids give each other moral support. Others need to be split up.” “And look at the third grade.” Sarah found her voice as Web paused. “I’ve two third graders so has Web. To put four kids in the same class is hardly fair on any teacher.” “With four kids, there’ll be at least one aide, maybe two. I can’t see it’s such a problem.” “How about four desks and chairs?” Web asked. “Furniture is a minor concern.” For once, Sarah agreed with Mike. Chairs were easy to repair. Messed-up children took time to fix. “You agree to Sarah’s suggestion?” Web’s quiet voice carried purpose. “You’ll let us assign students.” Mike paused. Sarah prayed he’d agree. He scanned the room, seeming determined to avoid her eyes. That suited her. He pondered long enough to recite the Constitution. “Can you sort out the list by this afternoon?” “Yes.” Sarah didn’t wait for Web. “We’ll do it,” Web answered a beat behind Sarah. “Drop it by on your way out this afternoon. Will you, Sarah?” Why her? Why not Web? The pulse in her neck throbbed like a traction engine. She spoke through a dry throat. “I’ll bring it by.” His eyes still had the power to soften her kneecaps. She’d have to toughen up. Fast. She had her coat on when she stopped by his office that afternoon. She planned to drop the paper and run. It didn’t work that way. Mike nodded her to a seat. Like a fool she sat down, her bag at her feet and watched him. His blond hair fell over his forehead as he read. She knew how that lock felt under her fingers and the warmth of his brow when she brushed it back and the taste of his skin under her lips. That line of thought would send her around the bend. She looked across the room and started counting the vowels in his diplomas. “Looks good.” Two words cut through her concentration. Blue eyes threatened to totter her composure. Why hadn’t she just left the darn thing in his mailbox? Why be alone with a man who thought she was an easy lay? “The proposal, it looks fine. Have you mentioned it to the teachers involved?” “Not yet. We thought you wanted to okay it first.” “Tell them… I okay it.” She wished to heaven he wouldn’t smile like that. “I will.” She stood up. Maybe one day being with him wouldn’t give such a pain. A few inches lower, she’d suspect kidney stones. She took a step toward the door. Four more and she’d be out. “Sarah.” She turned before she could stop herself. “Thanks for your support in this. I know you had doubts.”

“Had? Get your tenses right. I have doubts. And I’m not supporting you. I’m doing my damnedest to make sure my kids don’t miss out. I don’t want my students with teachers who feel uneasy with them or at worst, dislike and despise them.” He stared. Sarah felt her cheeks burn. Why couldn’t she keep her big mouth shut? He didn’t care what she thought anyway. “Can’t you concede any chance of success?” His words cut through her misery. “Yes, I can. Some of them will be fine. We both know that. They’ll be lucky with their teachers. They’re almost ready and they’ll manage. Most of them will survive because whatever happens at school is better than the alternative of staying home. But it’s the rest I worry about. The ones who can’t hack being in a room with twenty-odd, can’t keep up and go off one day.” “That may never happen. You anticipate too much.” A dry laugh slipped out. Brother, was he right. And she’d had all she could take for one day. “See you, Mike.” She was out of the door before he managed, “Goodbye.” Her footsteps faded so fast she had to be running. Mike wanted to call, to run after her. He didn’t want her. Or did he? He wanted Andrea. But Andrea warm and loving, not dismal, drunk and maundering, blaming him for their loss. Tears prickled behind his eyelids. He’d destroyed Andrea and wounded Sarah. He was a walking disaster where women were concerned.

Chapter Nine “Luke’s baptism is next Sunday. Nan’s counting on your being there.” Mike thought fast as Fred slipped his racquet into its case. “Three o’clock at St. Blaise’s and at the house.” He couldn’t refuse. Pleading another engagement would be an outright lie. He wasn’t exactly bombarded with invitations. He had nothing to fill his weekends now. Work and working out were fast becoming his only occupations. An afternoon with a regular family was what he needed. At the Pettaccis’ there’d be no Lady Fawcett or past governors to contend with. He’d forgotten about Sarah being godmother. She wore the red dress he remembered and a black velvet jacket with some light feathery stuff around the collar. She stood at the font with Fred and Nan, and one of Fred ’s unmarried brothers and had smiled for everyone. Except him. She wouldn’t meet his eyes and he couldn’t keep his off her. She and Nan smiled as they passed a fussy Luke back and forth. He quieted at last only to howl with indignation as cold water poured over his head. Memories of Andrea’s grandmother insisting the need to “cry the devil out” came back to him. But this time the remembrance came warm, like thoughts of sunshine as he remembered holding the infant Joshua cradled against his shoulder. But he’d been another man then. One who believed he could keep his son safe and make his wife happy. Soft December sun shone on the group outside the church. Sarah stood in the middle as an uncle and a cousin wielded cameras and ordered family members back and forth. Sarah turned and the skirt of her red dress swirled against her legs. Mike wanted to touch the soft knit fabric. No, he wanted to touch the warm skin beneath it. His body remembered and his mind would never forget. If he could only repair the cracks in his soul. “You promised your car, right?” Fred’s brother Marco tapped him on the shoulder. Mike nodded and found himself giving a lift to an out-of-town cousin who lit up a foul-smelling cigarette without asking. As Mike left the parking lot, Sarah was filling her car with elderly aunts. This afternoon wasn’t going to be easy. The crowd packed the big house, aunts in the kitchen, cousins in the living room, uncles in the den and excited children spilling lemonade and leaving trails of cookie crumbs everywhere. “Here.” Marco pushed a bottle and glasses at Mike. He ended up drinking grappa with a crowd of uncles and cousins. A good dozen females were squeezed into Nan’s bedroom. Luke, his long, embroidered robes off at last, lay nestled against Nan’s breast. He slurped and sucked greedily as mothers’ wisdom and female lore passed over his bald head. Satisfied at last, he dozed off. Nan passed him over to Sarah who burped him and

settled him in the lace-trimmed bassinet. Nonna’s eyes wrinkled with pleasure as Sarah looked up. A bony finger waggled at Sarah. “You need your own babies. You wait too long.” “Nonna, you’re right. But Mimi insists I get married first.” Smiles and chuckles greeted Sarah’s reply. The old woman shook her head, her hand raised in a backhanded gesture of dismissal. “I tell you. If you’re not married before the next baptism. I’ll talk with your grandmother. We’ll get you a husband.” Sarah wrapped an arm around the scrawny shoulders. The old body seemed frailer each time she saw her. “You and Mimi in cahoots would scare any man away.” Sarah helped in the kitchen. Impaling meatballs on toothpicks and unwrapping amaretti was infinitely preferable to facing Mike. She scorned her cowardice but valued her sanity. At school she managed. She stayed in her room and occupied herself with kids. Here she chose not to face those blue eyes, cold as glass marbles, waiting to remind her of recklessness and impulse. Who angered her most? Mike, for offering a taste of passion and snatching the cup back, or herself for discarding the careful restraints of a lifetime? Now wasn’t the time to fixate on her amorous lapses. She picked up a bread knife and cut a large pannetone into wafer-thin slices. Caught in the banter and teasing of a family who’d long ago adopted her as an honorary member, she almost forgot Mike in the other room. But when they assembled in the dining room to eat rum-soaked Genoese and drink to baby Luke’s health, Mike was waiting. It was too polished to be accidental. She’d been in the room thirty seconds and he stood at her elbow offering a flute of spumante. “Thanks.” There wasn’t much else to say. Fred’s father was toasting Luke, Fred, Nan and half the family with enthusiasm and obvious pride. Listening to the replies and thanks, Sara tried to ignore Mike. She did a lousy job. Drinking, she closed her eyes to better feel the sprinkle of bubbles against her mouth. And she smelled Mike’s aftershave. She turned. His eyes softened as they met hers. “We need to talk,” he said. No, they didn’t! She was just getting used to the way things were. She wasn’t up to being jerked around again. “I’m not so sure,” she replied and wanted to kick herself for not saying “no” outright. “Please, Sarah. There’s a lot I have to say.” And a whole lot better left unsaid. “Here?” It came out in her bus duty voice. She hadn’t meant it to. “Not here. Later. Can you meet for coffee somewhere?” “I’m doing taxi service for some of the aunts. Maybe today isn’t a good time.” Maybe never. She could hear his deep breath, almost a sigh. She bet half the room could, too. “I hurt you that day at school. And you’ve been avoiding me like the plague since.” Right on both counts. He stood close but he didn’t touch. Just as well, she’d either slap him or throw her arms around him. Of course neither would occasion much

comment in this crowd. They’d nod and nudge each other and resume the toasts with smiles and chuckles. “Mike… ” How do you tell your principal to take a running jump off a short bridge? Especially if it’s the last thing you want him to do. “Thirty minutes, Sarah. Give me thirty minutes. If you still think I’m a horse’s patoose, I’ll leave you alone.” Thirty minutes would be worth it to hear his reasons. At least he had the grace to try. “Okay. Let’s meet at the Oaks Cafe downtown. After I drop off everyone.” She hadn’t planned to make him wait. But she did. And it didn’t seem to hurt. Mike stood in the cold, his elbows propped on the car roof. The cafe was shut. He smiled. She’ d rather he frowned. Somehow this meeting seemed a big, big mistake. “I had to double back. Aunt Ella remembered her rings on the washbasin when I was about half a mile from Fred’s parents. I could have clouted her. But we got them… ” She broke off. Why all the rigmarole? A simple “sorry I’m late” would do. “We’d better find somewhere else.” His head indicated the shuttered door. “Where do you suggest?” Good question. Downtown Seven Oaks wasn’t exactly lively on a Sunday night. “Most places are closed. There is the Plantation Inn.” His eyes shot wide with horror. Power shouldn’t be so easy to wield. “Somewhere else.” He didn’t sound as if he’d ever forget. “There’s the Seven Oaks Club or the truck stop on the interstate.” “Nowhere in between?” She nodded. “If you’re not too squeamish about decor, there is somewhere. I’ll show you.” She pulled her keys out of her pocket and half turned back to her car. “Let me drive.” Sarah shook her head. She wanted her own transport to get away if needed. “No. It’s easier this way. It’s not far. Just across the tracks.” She just knew he’d never expected this. Bubba’s Place stood ten feet from the railway lines. Their cars sat between the battered pickups and beat-up Chevys like respectable matrons at the welfare office. “Tell me it looks better inside,” Mike whispered as they walked across the gravel parking lot toward the battered screen door. “Can’t do that. I don’t tell lies.” Mike’s silk shirt and camel jacket stood out like lace frills in a body shop. Sarah forgave herself the lapse into devilment that led them here. Let him worry whether he’d get out with his wallet intact. She wouldn’t reassure him, yet. A hulking bear of a man lumbered from behind the bar and enveloped Sarah with his massive arms. “I thought you’d given us up,” he said as he crushed her dress against his bib overalls. “Bubba, as if I could. I’ve been busy. How’s Mother Fry?” “Driving us crazy. I’ll tell her you’ve been in. Want a beer?” The last comment

included Mike. They both refused. “Coffee, please. We’ve been at a party and drinking all afternoon.” She introduced Mike without any elaboration. She smiled at Mike’s amazement as Bubba offered a hand strong enough to crush sheet metal, offered to put on a fresh pot and sat them in a booth by the window. Mike assessed the surroundings with critical eyes. She didn’t blame him. The battered pink Formica tabletops and the patched and taped upholstery echoed the general grunge. “Angel was Bubba’s sister,” she said. “She used to bring me here for breakfast on Saturdays before we went shopping. Bubba makes the best grits in Seven Oaks.” “It reminds me of the gang hangouts my grandmother put off-limits.” “I think it was one once. But the local toughs all turned middle-aged a few years back.” “And you come here alone?” “Let’s put it this way. You’re the first man I’ve brought here. Bubba’s handshake would paralyze most men I know.” “Some sort of endurance test? Did I pass?” He really had his principal’s voice tuned up. She ignored the question. “I knew it would be open. Bubba only closes when there’s a death in the family. And I decided you could face Bubba without hyperventilating.” Coffee arrived, black, thick and scented with caffeine, in heavy mugs as thick as pickle crocks. Just what she needed to brace herself for whatever Mike had in mind. She poured cream from the dented steel jug and watched it blend as she stirred. “You wanted to talk,” she said, tapping her spoon on the side of the mug. “Yeah.” The light seemed to fade in his eyes. “I do. You do a great job of choosing distracting surroundings.” “I figured here I’d have someone on my side.” She nodded in the direction of Bubba leaning on the bar, discussing basketball with a trio of beer drinkers. “I’m cast as adversary?” Sharp enough to cut, his words hit her somewhere between heart and head. “I don’t cast you as anything. We disagree at school because we want different things. You happen to run the show. You get your way. That’s all.” How she wished that was all. “And out of school?” His persistence tempted her to call Bubba to take care of him. But she remembered Mike’s hard muscles. Bubba’s generous beer paunch might come off worse. “Out of school?” he repeated. She took a long, slow swig of her coffee. Let caffeine lend her wit and words. “You’ re a friend whom I run into from time to time.” She thought she’d picked words rather well. He scowled over his coffee cup. “I’ve been more than that.” She despised the blush that suffused her face from chin to forehead. “Maybe.” The word took an effort. “More than ‘maybe’. ‘Maybe’ didn’t get us into bed.” Blood rose with her pulse. Her face had to be purple now. “That was my mistake.

You set things straight very effectively.” He flinched. “You dig the knife in. Deep.” “And you didn’t?” “I had a reason.” He didn’t try to deny it. Was he brazen or brave? They watched each other, like circling wildcats. “You think I’ve acted like a sleazeball.” She nodded. And couldn’t stop her smile. How many men in the course of history had made this admission? “Have you ever had dreams rob you of sleep and half drive you crazy?” “Not often. But I have.” She wouldn’t add he’d been in most of them. “You’ll understand then.” She doubted it. He never took his eyes off his coffee cup. “Andrea, my wife, died just over a year ago. I was out of town for a conference. She didn’t want me to go and I came back to find her dead. I came here to forget. It hasn’t worked.” He took a long mouthful of coffee. White-knuckled hands grasped the mug. “Since Thanksgiving I’ve been having nightmares. I see your body and her face. Your eyes look out from under her eyelids. She haunts me whenever I think of you. I can’t do it.” His skin paled to gray. The harsh fluorescent lights didn’t help. Sarah wrapped her hands over his. His tense knuckles bored into her palms. “Mike, she was your wife. Haunt’s not the right word. You need longer to grieve. It takes time.” She paused. “You said your son died, too?” “Joshua died eight months before Andrea.” Tears stung her eyelids. “Give yourself time. And remember you have friends. Fred and Nan. Me. And Dr. Jendrasic, he’s an old buddy right?” “I’ve hurt you.” His eyes gleamed bright. Was he fighting tears, too? “I can handle it. We’ll be friends… unless you push inclusion too much.” He returned her grin with a slow twist of his mouth. It could mean anything from agreement to resignation. Sarah didn’t care she just wanted to get out. And get home. “Try Star’s new pie. Peanut butter apple.” Bubba pushed the white foam box in her hands as they were leaving. He lowered his voice. “Do me a favor. Talk to Bea for me. Twice she’s been here trying to get beer. I can’t sell to her. I’d lose my license.” “I’ll talk to her. She knows better. Take care, Bubba, and thank Star for the pie.” Mike waited by the door. Sarah forced a smile, a goodbye and a “see you in the morning”. She drove away, watching Mike in her rearview mirror. Just her luck to fall deep into thick goo over a man who still loved his dead wife. She’d better grow rhinoceros hide if she wanted to last out the year.

***** “Does it really hurt that bad?” Sarah smiled at Web. She also blushed. “Is it that obvious? I thought I did a good job at polite and professional.” “It may fool him. It doesn’t fool me.” “You know me too well.” She paused. “Of course, he’s known me as the saying goes. I’m a fool, Web. I go falling off the deep end over a pair of blue eyes. I thought I

had sense.” “No one does about love or sex.” “Are you cynic or sympathizer?” “Both. That’s what friends are for.” They were. And Web had been hers for years. “You came to plan the field trip?” Get back to business. She’d said too much, even to Web. He perched on the edge of her desk. She leaned back in her chair and smiled. Web had kept her sane more than once. He’d do it again. “What do you want to do? The usual?” A slow smile curled up his mouth. If he’d been a student, she’d ask what he’d been doing. “The usual, with an extra,” he replied. She waited. He’d tell without her asking. “We’ll do the usual. Both classes. The market. The trees. The decorations and lunch at the club. But we’re inviting Mike to come. He can’t decently refuse, can he?” “Why do you want him?” She didn’t. A whole day with Mike Hartman was a field trip ruined. “Politics. A Machiavellian twist.” As he fiddled with her paper clip holder, she tried to see the sense in his idea. She couldn’t. “Come again, Web.” “Easy. The last three or four weeks what have we had? Complaints about our kids. They don’t sit still. They don’t listen. They don’t work. They lose homework. They don’t keep rules. You’ve heard it. I’m sick of it. Let him see how they behave with us.” Sarah couldn’t hide the chuckle rising from her gut. “Web, you’re brilliant. It’s perfect! Let Mike see how they can be. You’re inviting him?” She wasn’t volunteering for the job. “Wednesday, at the meeting.” She looked forward to next Wednesday.

***** “You’re taking your classes downtown and having lunch at the Seven Oaks Club?” “We do it every year,” Sarah said. “It’s become a tradition.” Web was right. This would be an education for Mike. If he came. Disbelief and amazement flickered behind his eyes. Now, she could meet them and smile. Even if she did chill inside when she thought too much. “Will you come? You can see Special Ed. in action.” She hadn’t quite meant it to sound like a challenge. Or had she? “I’ll come. The tenth is free.” Sarah wanted to whoop. They’d show him.

***** “Gerri, please. I’ve got to have the signature. And I’m not going out there on my own.”

“Honey, you go there alone, we’ll never see you again.” “Then come with me.” “No way. They sicced the dog on me last time.” Sarah and Gerri Lee, the visiting teacher, stood by the copying machine. They both turned as Mike came up. “Got a problem?” he asked. Gray eyes and dark brown eyes looked. He felt he’d walked into the women’s room by mistake. “Something wrong?” he persisted. “I need to get an IEP signed,” Sarah said. “That’s all.” “Won’t the parents come in?” The minute he spoke, he knew the answer. He was learning about their parents. Two half-smiles confirmed his assumption. “You’re taking it out there?” “No way,” Gerri said. “Fighting off vicious dogs isn’t part of my job description. You go. You’re younger than me. You can protect Sarah.” Sarah didn’t seem to fancy his protection. “I’ll ask George to come with me.” “Using the DARE officer isn’t necessary. He’s got his classes. I’ll go with you. When are you leaving?” She looked at him as if he’d suggested they run away to Reno. “First thing, okay?” he went on. “Your aide can cover your class for an hour or so.” Sarah nodded. “Give me until nine-thirty. I want to get them settled.” Mike watched her leave, her hips swiveled as she eased her way around Marianne’s desk. He turned. He didn’t want to remember how the curve of her hips felt under his hand. Or did he? The phone on his desk rang. An agitated parent complaining about her child’s bus driver soon drove Sarah’s hips from his mind. Nine-thirty-one. Sarah waited in Marianne’s office, clipboard under her arm and pocketbook over her shoulder. She looked ready to take on the world, or at least the shady side of Seven Oaks. “Want me to drive?” She stood up as Mike walked in. “I will.” “Fine,” she replied in a voice that suggested maybe it wasn’t. “Where are we going?” he asked as they pulled away from the parking lot. “The Finers. Nightingale Avenue.” Mike rammed his brakes and stared at her. Gray eyes met his. Her mouth twitched. “Perhaps we should go back for Officer Bryant,” he said. She chuckled. “It’s broad daylight. And early.” “And you planned to go on your own?” He got goose bumps at the thought. “No way! I wanted Gerri to come. She did last time. It’s part of her job description after all.” “The time they sicced the dog on her?” Sarah nodded. “Some family. Both parents there?” He guessed the answer before she replied, “Dad’s in jail. Mom lives with her sister and a selection of inamoratos.” He’d never heard the masculine form before. But he knew Sarah had it right. She had everything right. Or did she? A frown crinkled her brows together. “Let’s go and get it over with. I’ve got a class to teach.” And he had a school to run.

The house smelled of squalor. Yellowed paint peeled off the siding. The front porch sagged on one side. Newspaper sealed off a broken windowpane, and beer cans and fast food boxes had won over grass in the front yard. Sarah hugged her clipboard to her chest. “Here we go,” she said. “The seamy side of Seven Oaks.” She grinned with the warmth he remembered. He wanted to take her away from all this. She belonged in her safe, comfortable world, not here. She marched up the uneven path. “Watch where you walk,” she warned over her shoulder. Just in time he avoided the discarded condom. Gerri had been smart to refuse to come. The screen hung down from the door in a flapping triangle. Sarah pulled it open and rapped on the door. It opened almost immediately. A mammoth of a man wearing sagging sweat pants and nothing else filled the doorway. “Wadya want?” he said, leaning on a jamb that looked ready to collapse under his weight. “I’ve come to see Julia Finer. I’m from the school system. She needs to sign some papers about help for her son under Public Law 94-142.” Mike stepped right beside Sarah. He could add muscle, if she needed it. The man scowled at them both then yelled over his shoulder. “Julie, get out here. Woman from school wants yer.” Julie came out, wearing stained, pink polyester pants and a red top that stretched across her braless bosom. Her eyes glazed as she tried to focus on Sarah and the sweet, sickly smell of pot hung on her clothes and hair. Sarah smiled. “Sorry to disturb you, but I know how hard it is to get into school.” In two minutes she had her signatures. “Call me at school if you have any questions,” she said. The couple grunted in reply. The screen door slammed back and Sarah strode down the path with giant strides. She sagged into the passenger seat. “Mike, get me out of here.” Sweat beaded across her upper lip. Her shoulders drew up and her whole body shook. Her eyes begged him to move, fast. “Done,” he said. The engine hummed into life. He drove away like a rescuing knight errant. He pulled up in front of a convenience store a couple of miles away. “You need a caffeine fix,” he said. “I’ll be all right.” Pale as bleached bones and shaking from shoulders to knees didn’t look like “all right” to him. “Mike, I’ll be fine. Just let me get over it. I will. It shakes me up for ten minutes and I’m a grown-up. I can leave it. I can’t imagine a seven-year-old going home to that and having to stay there.” He could. He’d seen as bad or worse in his own childhood. “It’s the sort of place I thought I’d left behind in Chicago.” Her eyes flickered. “It’s everywhere, Mike. You can’t outrun misery. Small towns have their share of everything big cities have.” He noticed her perfume—a waft of floral freshness. Only the hand brake separated them. But it was enough to remind him to keep his distance. “I’ll get your coffee.” He took longer than necessary fiddling with cups, coffeepots and lids. He needed breathing space. He couldn’t forget Andrea. Given he didn’t want Sarah, why did she shuffle his senses so? He should forget Thanksgiving. She obviously had. “Here.” He handed her a Styrofoam cup, realizing he needed the coffee as much as

she did. The strong, scalding brew settled his nerves. This visit had revived some nasty memories of childhood. He shut his eyes a moment, inhaling the smell of coffee and Sarah. “That perfume you wear. It makes me think of summer.” She stared in surprise. “It’s lavender. Jersey Lavender. Mother sends it to me.” He’d smelled it on her pillow after that night, in her classroom and it would stay in his car after she left. Like a torture, tantalizing with impossibilities. But he could make them possibilities. “Want to go for a drink after school?” The words came out like an echo in his head. Had he said or dreamed them? He’d said them. Her face told him that most clearly. A shake of her head settled the matter. “No. But thanks. We can’t switch on and off. It’s easier to stay off.” Right. It didn’t bother her. But something else did. Her mouth dropped open. Her eyes popped like a dowager’s Pekingese. He followed her gaze. Bea walked past the car, past the dry cleaners and the Chinese takeaway and through the door of the ABC store, intent it seemed on making an illegal purchase of liquor. “Bea.” It came out like a strangled whisper. Sarah opened the door. Mike leaned across her and grabbed her wrist. “Wait,” he said, but it came out like an order. “I’ve got to stop her. She should be in school.” Her wrist felt warm, slim and supple as he clutched it. “Are you planning on making a scene in the ABC store?” Her gray eyes stared as her lips parted. She wasn’t waiting for a kiss. “Mike, she’s too young to buy liquor. They won’t sell it to her.” She wrenched her arm from his grip. As she did, her shoulders jerked and most of her coffee filled her lap. She cried out as the hot liquid seeped through her woolen skirt to her thighs. Mike grabbed a stack of papers off the backseat, lifted Sarah’s skirt by the hem and slipped the papers between her skin and her slip. She stared at him, grabbed his wrist but said nothing. Tears of pain glistened in the corners of her eyes. “Better?” he asked. She nodded, her lips tight and her eyes wide. “You’ve got to get that skirt off before you burn.” “Not here.” Panic crossed her eyes. He wanted to smile but he didn’t. “I’ll take you home. You can change there.” Sarah wanted clothes that didn’t smell of coffee. Leaving Mike in the living room, she ran upstairs. It took ten minutes to wash, change and toss her stained skirt in the hamper. She wanted to leave, fast. She needed to be back in school and the thought of Mike, here in her house, in the middle of the day caused anxieties she didn’t want to consider. She avoided looking at her bed as she rushed around the room determined to set a record for clothes changing. She’d have run down the spiral stair if it hadn’t meant a good chance of a broken leg. She forced herself to descend calmly. Mike stood by the bookshelf, a silver photo frame in his hand. “I recognize you and your mother. Is that man your father?” “Yes. That was taken in New York the Easter before Mother left.” Her hand closed

on the frame, pulling it from his grasp. She set it back on the shelf. He stood close enough to see the mother-of-pearl button in the gap between his collar and his tie. And he smelled of coffee. Was it his breath or had some spilled on him? She wanted to shut her eyes, inhale his scent and fall into his arms. What she wanted and what she’d do, were very different. He was more distraction than she cared to handle. “About Bea… ” he began. “I can handle Bea.” “Sure?” She nodded. His blue eyes carried another question. A dozen questions she had no desire to answer. If she could. No one commented on her change of clothes. If she’d had any sense, she’d have wondered why. But her mind was on her class and the coming confrontation with Bea. The little kids didn’t worry her but the big one did.

***** “I’ve had it with Coach Wilson. He threw a fit because Debbie and I were ten minutes late for practice. He’s threatened to take us out of the next meet if we’re late again.” Bea came in with eyes like boiling sugar. She kicked a chair out from under the table and slumped into it. Sarah looked up from washing the broccoli. Bea’s eyes burned with temper and her face clenched up like a three-year-old throwing a temper tantrum. As she flopped against the slatted back of the chair, Sarah wanted to wrap her arms around her and commiserate about Coach Wilson. But no, Sarah had to confront her with this morning’s escapade. And there was no gentle way to broach the subject. Sarah slid the salmon into the oven, stacked the cut broccoli on the countertop and filled a pan with water. “How was school? Apart from Coach Wilson.” If she was the police, this would count as entrapment. “Fine.” Bea wiggled her fingers and stared at her nails. “Anything special happen?” Bea turned in her chair. She shrugged. A study of deliberate unconcern met Sarah’s eyes. “Naw. Just the same old mess.” Sarah pulled out the chair next to Bea’s. “I saw you at the ABC store near Nelson’s Corner. About ten-thirty this morning.” Bea jerked as if she’d been hit. Anger flushed her cheeks and burned in her eyes. “Spying on me, were you?” “Nothing of the sort.” Indignation burst the words from Sarah. “I’d gone with Mike Hartman to get an IEP signed. We stopped to get a cup of coffee. And I saw you.” Bea’s hand curled up like a claw. The tendons in her hand stood out under her pale skin. Sarah wanted to clasp her hands in hers. She didn’t. She had a point to make and soldiered on. “Bea, it’s against the law to buy it. You can’t.” Mockery and arrogance replaced the anger in her blue eyes. “Guess what? I never knew that. Thanks for telling me, Sis.”

“Cut it out.” Sarah heard her own voice rise in temper. She wouldn’t lose it. She refused to. “Bea, why were you there? What were you buying? And why cut school to do it? Use your sense.” Bea paused, as if trying to explain things to a simple-minded child. “I borrowed a license.” “Whose?” “Good old cousin Larry’s.” “Are you crazy? How could you pass yourself off as Larry? He’s six inches taller, eight years older and he’s got tattoos on his chest.” Bea smiled a very plastic smile. “Sis, we’ve both got long blonde hair. They just glance at the ID to see if the photo’s profile or not.” “It just happens to be breaking the law. And what about staying in school during the day?” Bea propped her feet on the stretcher of the chair opposite and smirked. “Look who’ s talking about staying in school. What did you and Mike do? Slip home for some quick smoochy-smoochy? Should I ask the neighbors if they saw a nice red sports car here during the day?” Sarah felt the color rise from her toes. She pressed her palms on the table as she leaned into Bea’s face. “Mind your mouth,” she snapped. The smirk became a full-scale gloat. “Hit a guilty nerve, did I, Sis? What a lucky guess. So much for Saint Sarah. Don’t preach to me until your conscience is clear.” She stood up and marched out the door. Sarah listened to Bea’s footsteps on the uncarpeted back stairs. She’d handled that with cement gloves. She almost cursed Mike for putting her in the position of feeling guilty. Then her anger boiled. Her conscience was clear. Today, they’d done nothing that wouldn’t pass scrutiny of a church morality committee.

***** Sarah tossed and dreamed all night. Dream? Nightmare was nearer the truth. In her restless sleep, she took off her coat and found herself standing in front of her class in the splendor of her satin slip. She’d forgotten to replace her stained skirt. Mike smiled from the doorway, dressed—or rather undressed—exactly as when she’d first seen him and Bea strolled past the window, shadowy bottles tucked under her arm. Sarah woke, sweating and shaking, then tossed for what seemed hours. Giving up on sleep, she went downstairs, fixed a long glass of Quibel and ice and wandered into the living room. Moonlight shone through the uncurtained windows. She sat down without turning on the light. The photo Mike picked up earlier rested askew against a vase. Sarah picked it up, half blinking back tears. She remembered that trip as if it was yesterday. She’d had a wonderful time, never dreaming her mother was already planning her escape. How would her parents have handled Bea today? Would they have made such a fiasco? Her father would have told Angel to handle it. Her mother? Ask her. Two o’clock. Seven in England. Mother would be up exercising. Sarah didn’t hesitate. Mother could forgo a few crunches. Her only daughter needed her.

Sarah went on for a good ten minutes, forgetting transatlantic charges and her mother’s need to get ready for work. She poured out everything—school, Mike, Bea, Mike and her own confused feelings, and Mike. “You need a holiday,” Julia said when she managed to get a word in. “Mother, you’d cure everything with a cup of tea or a holiday.” “Probably.” Julia chuckled down the phone. “When does the Christmas holiday begin?” “The twenty-second.” “You’re coming here at Christmas. You need the break. Won’t hurt Bea to look after herself. Old Sarah can do without you for one year. And maybe that man of yours will miss you enough to see sense.” Mother was crazy. She couldn’t fly over for a week. Could she? Bea planned to go to the Homestead with Mimi as usual. Some time apart might smooth things over. Give her a chance to recover her patience. As she hesitated, her mother settled it. “I’ll send the ticket, dear. A present from John and me.” She knew better than argue with her mother.

***** “It’s not working. I’ve had an impossible child foisted on me,” Mildred Price, one of the second grade teachers, said. “She’s impossible. Won’t stay in her seat. Throws pencils at the other children. And flipped me the bird when I told her not to push in line.” Mike looked set to regret his motion for comments. If Sarah met his eyes, she’d have a hard time not grinning. He’d thought Special Ed. was difficult. He hadn’t seen Regular Ed. in full flood. “My two behave themselves but they can’t get anything finished in time. I’m afraid they’re going to miss something.” “I can’t see the difference between the LD ones and the others. None of mine do homework.” Third and fourth grade added their bit. Mike cut the comments off. “Specific problems you need to discuss with the appropriate Special Ed. teacher. Perhaps we need to list general concerns and thrash things out in the New Year. Bear in mind Dr. Jendrasic expects this to work.” “He should be here coping with it then,” Ellie Clark from fifth grade muttered in a stage whisper that carried through the room. “I’d like to know what he’d do with the kids I’ve won.” Sarah almost felt sorry for Mike, but not quite. He’d asked for comments and got them. And now he had half the faculty out for blood. He should have held this meeting before he started the whole thing. And listened a bit more. Sarah followed Mike out of the room, leaving behind muttering groups of unhappy teachers. “Mike,” she said as she caught up with him at the bottom of the stairs. He turned. Seeing her, his frown softened, just a little. “Going to say ‘I told you so’?” he asked. She shook her head. “No. I just want to remind you about the field trip on Friday. You said you’d come.”

“You think I’ll change my mind after this?” his voice came sharp enough to cut. “I thought you might have a conflict. There’s a lot going on this time of year.” A wry smile twisted his mouth. “The only conflict is the one I just walked out on.” “They’re upset, stressed out and panicky. You should have asked for their concerns before you started inclusion.” Raised eyebrows replaced the smile. “Don’t start, Sarah. You can’t fight administrative decisions.” She felt her spine tighten and straighten. “My job is to teach children. I’m not here to fight.” “I’m glad to hear it. What time are you leaving on Friday?” “Ten. We’re back about two, two-thirty.” He smiled. “I need something to get me in the Christmas spirit.” Watching him taking the stairs at a clip, Sarah agreed. He didn’t seem to enjoying himself much these days. But did he deserve to, they way he’d cut up the school and played with her heart? Web came up behind her. “Trying to soothe the Savage Principal?” he asked. “Just reminding him about Friday.” “Great, let him see us in action and our kids under control. The experience will do him good.” “I hope it does the kids good.” “Why don’t you use your influence to help him see reason?” Sarah almost flinched at the implication. “My influence wouldn’t get the Coke machine filled.” She had no intention of discussing her influence or lack of it. “Indeed?” Web said with a smirk. “Cool, uninvolved Sarah may fool the others. Not me. I noticed you wearing a different skirt after you’d spent the morning with our respected principal.” Sarah chilled, right down her spine. Her mouth began to open. In time she blocked the denial rising in her mind. Ridiculous. But to deny would convince Web they’d had a morning of illicit passion during contractual hours. She stood knee-deep in a mess of her own making. Tamesha’s dance had been her first big mistake and as for Thanksgiving, she wanted to hit herself on the side of the head. And just her luck, now Mike had dumped her, the whole school seemed hung on the next episode of Lemmon Park’s own soap opera. Back in the secret corners of her mind a truth still flickered. She might face her friends and colleagues with cool dispassion but she couldn’t fool herself. Mike still had power to unsettle her thoughts and ruin her sleep. And she’d been dumb enough to suggest a whole day with him. Thank heavens they’d have twenty-odd chaperones. And Bea? Could Mike possibly be right? Ridiculous! Bea was just testing the limits. A bit of teenage rebellion. Everything would sort out after Christmas.

Chapter Ten

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to prove but I’m convinced.” Mike perched on the edge of Sarah’s reading table and eased the weight off his feet. They’d grown three sizes during the day and his shoes hadn’t. “I wasn’t out to prove anything. I just wanted you to realize our kids behave perfectly if they’re comfortable where they are, know the rules and realize they’ll get clobbered if they don’t keep them.” Sarah gave him a look of smug innocence. It didn’t fool him. He’d guessed she’d orchestrated the entire day to prove her point. And she’d brought it off with the confidence and aplomb of a… McAllister. Twenty-three children walked downtown that morning with Sarah setting a spanking pace that left his quadriceps sore. They’d strolled through the stalls in the farmers’ market, admired the Christmas trees in the market and fire station, and the wreaths and stars on Main Street. Lunch was something. He’d never forget their party marching up the steps of the Seven Oaks Club to a group of reserved tables. “Was this in the field trip application?” he had to ask. Sarah grinned. “Read it better next time. You might end up signing for us to spend a week in Florida.” “Only Sarah would propose this. But the kids love it and so do we. It beats a packed lunch from the cafeteria,” Web said. Web was more than right. But it was the students who surprised Mike the most. They sat, straight-backed, elbows down, hands in their laps and spoke in refined tones. Were these the same children who squished mashed potatoes into the floor and yelled until their voices echoed off the ceiling? After the last crumbs of cheesecake disappeared, Sarah led the entire party back to the entrance hall. The high-ceilinged lobby and the small mahogany paneled bar to the left looked like the setting for a photo in a glossy magazine. Young faces that at school looked pinched and worn from poverty and need, glowed with excitement as Sarah and the club manager handed out decorations to hang on the tree. Young eyes wide with wonder and excitement took Mike back to his five Christmases with Joshua. He half-expected to feel the old pain searing his heart, but instead he felt tired, weary of loneliness and mourning. Watching Sarah smile at the upturned faces, a flush of desire hit him like a great tidal wave of longing. Thoughtful, kind, considerate, stubborn, intelligent, gently belligerent, she was all of them and more. He’d turned his back on a living, breathing, warmhearted woman to wallow in the shadow of his old ghosts. Mike planted his feet on the parquet floor and felt peace settle his troubled heart. He understood Ebenezer Scrooge’s Christmas transformation. And if he wasn’t careful twenty-three children would be noticing his physical transformation.

The buses had gone and he faced Sarah, feeling like an adolescent at a middle school dance. “A place where they’re comfortable?” he asked. “I doubt any of those kids had ever been in the Seven Oaks Club before.” “Last Christmas. And the one before. We do it every year.” Her clear, gray eyes and soft smile implied lunching at the Seven Oaks Club was part of normal Christmas celebrations. “Sarah, you take kids from the projects and the rough side of town. And let them loose in that dining room. Three of them have criminal records. You’re lucky they didn’t steal the silverware.” “They wouldn’t. They know we’d half kill them if they did.” She looked up from the books she stacked on the side of her desk. “Mike, can’t you guess why I take them and twist Mimi’s arm to subsidize us?” The comment about her grandmother was news to him. He’d wondered how so many free-lunch parents had sprung for an expensive meal. “For most of them it’s their only chance to eat there. Barring some wonderful success story, none of them will ever get there under their own steam except to work. This way they have something to remember. A little taste of luxury and comfort. Everybody needs one.” Tired eyes met his. The crisp blouse she’d worn this morning creased under her arms and gaped between her breasts as her shoulders sagged. Her hair stood away from her face. She hadn’t combed it since she’d returned. And her makeup had long since gone. But she smiled. And he didn’t need anything else. “Sarah. I’d like to see you over the vacation. We can forget school for a few days.” Lips parted in surprise. A question and a shade of doubt crossed her face. A few seconds dragged like Friday afternoon. Her smile flickered. “Sorry, I can’t. I’m spending Christmas with my mother.” “Your mother? In London?” Why not? She probably went to Paris shopping for the weekend. “You go every Christmas?” She shook her head. “I haven’t been for Christmas since my teens. Mother sent me the ticket this year. She thought I needed to get away. So I’m going.” Hope took a nosedive and landed somewhere in his innards. “I’ll miss you.” The words wrenched themselves out. She tidied the pencils on her desk before she answered. “It’s only a week. I’ll be back.” “How about a drink or coffee before school closes?” He watched her, wondering why he needed her “yes” so badly and why the waiting stung inside. She bit her lip and frowned before she shook her head. “Let’s wait until I get back.” The smile in her eyes softened the blow, but not enough. It felt like a kick in the pit of his stomach. “I don’t want to wait that long.” “Would you rather I told you ‘no’ outright? Is that what you want?” The kick became a stomping with steel-toed boots. His face must have shown everything. He couldn’t hide it. He killed the temptation to walk out with his dignity. He chose to stay and fight.

He leaned over the edge of her desk, palms down on the chipped top. “Since you asked, no. I want you to have dinner with me tomorrow night. Get together a couple of times next week for drinks. Cancel your trip to England and spend Christmas with me and come with me to New York for New Year’s Eve.” She laughed. She wasn’t amused. “You don’t want much. Just have me rearrange my life.” “You asked.” For a long, silent minute her gray eyes clouded and blinked. Cheeks, flushed from wind, cold and something more, were so close he could lean over and kiss them. He didn’t. “Wait until I get back. I’m not sure what I want.” “Yes, you are.” Now she flushed scarlet. She stood up. She’d never be eye to eye with him but that didn’t bother her. “Mike, lay off.” He fought back the pun that sprung to his lips. That wouldn’t impress one iota. “When do you get back?” “New Year’s Day.” “I’ll be there.” The door closed behind him, a solid thud of seventy-year-old oak. “I wish to heaven he’d make up his mind,” she muttered to herself. A chill wrapped around Sarah. He had made up his mind. Now she had to make up hers. Were his parting words a threat or a promise? And why did it matter? She didn’t want to answer that one. She just wanted to go. Out the side door, no need to go by the office and risk seeing Mike. She wouldn’t go home. She couldn’t face one of Bea’s moods right now. Halfway to Bubba’s she turned around. She wanted no reminders of Mike. She drove up on the Parkway. The winter sun low on the horizon glared in her eyes as she killed the engine, yanked up the brake and stared across the valley though winter bare trees. It wasn’t reasonable to have a racing heartbeat at her age. But what she felt toward Mike wasn’t reasonable. Why hadn’t she jumped at his offer of a drink? She’d wished for it often enough in the last couple of weeks. Better safe than sorry. She had too much to risk—her peace of mind, her sanity, her heart. For a few short weeks, she’d thought she’d found everything in Mike. But nothing ever lasted. Why risk it again to wonder if she measured up to his late wife. She hadn’t run to her mother since she was twelve. Now she couldn’t wait. A week of parties, museums, art galleries and Christmas pantomimes would grant her a needed respite from the turmoil that passed for her life right now. Night fell quickly like a heavy, wet curtain. The dark filled with animal sounds and echoes that gave her the willies. Time to leave. She drove down toward home and stopped at the grocery store for yeast and mozzarella. Maybe her favorite supper would get more from Bea than moans and grunts. But a scribbled message from her sister waited under a magnet on the refrigerator. Bea had gone out to spend the night with Becky or was it Debbie? Bea’s writing seemed

worse than a dyslexic second grader’s. So much for sibling togetherness. Sarah abandoned all thought of cooking and drove into Roanoke to finish her Christmas shopping.

***** Two weeks earlier, Mike had announced all Special Ed. kids would attend parties in their homerooms. Today they lived the great experiment. Sarah only hoped Mike would get wise before next year. Was twelve months long enough to get sense in his stubborn head? Valentine’s wasn’t too far away. A shudder shook her. She’d end up loathing parties at this rate. Instead of her sugar-free, additive-free parties, her kids were gorging on cookies, cupcakes, soda and red food coloring. Sarah felt sorry for the bus drivers. One-fifteen. Forty-five minutes until early dismissal, she couldn’t wait. By four o’ clock she’d be in the air. Her kids seemed to be in orbit already. Sarah walked the halls a second time. She slipped into third grade and grabbed a cup of punch just as Tim prepared to pour it in the aquarium. She threatened him with extra homework if the fish died. Halfway to second grade, Tremaine barreled into her. Before she could spout her polished lines about running in the halls, she caught his panicky eyes. “Ms. McAllister, I need you. Prissy’s gone off.” She led him, running down the hall. She’d dreaded something awful but not this. Prissy had been calm all year. What had set her off? Damn Mike and his educational experiments. She wouldn’t have wished this, even to change Mike’s opinion. She’d expected Prissy to be screaming on the floor, arms and legs flailing or bashing another kid on the head with a blunt textbook. She’d done both more than once. Prissy wasn’t yelling. Even if half the class was. Her mouth was busy, latched like the proverbial snapping turtle, on the inside of Mike’s thigh. Four strides and Sarah crossed to Mike. Prissy was way beyond words or eye contact. To avoid the limbs that seemed as dangerous as Medusa’s hair, Sarah stepped behind Mike, stooped down to reach between his legs, and squeezed the child’s nose tight as her fingers could grip. Prissy’s face turned red then blue before her mouth relinquished its viselike grip and she collapsed on the floor in a sobbing heap. Sarah jerked her to her feet. “You can’t behave this afternoon. You’re leaving the party.” Grabbing the child’s upper arms, Sarah frog-marched her down to the office. Prissy whimpered, curled up halfway to a fetal position on the wooden chair. Sarah sat next to her, an arm holding her quivering shoulders. Sarah drew the line at holding Prissy on her lap. At some point the child had wet herself. The warmth of the office didn’ t help. Even if Marianne had opened a window. Mike appeared in his doorway. Sarah avoided his eyes. She’d had enough. At least this made up her mind about dating him again. She couldn’t have dinner with a man when she’d reached under his crotch to pinch a nose. “Prissy’s grandmother is coming to pick her up.” Prissy tensed and reached for Sarah’s hand. “She’s going to whop me.” “Maybe, maybe not. But you’d better have a good explanation for what you did this

afternoon. Why not start practicing with Mr. Hartman and myself?” Young eyes, wise to the cruelties of the world, glowered across to Mike. “I don’t like him.” “His name is Mr. Hartman as well you know. You don’t have to like him. But you do have to be polite. And you may not bite him. Or anyone else for that matter.” “He took my baton.” “Young lady, I took the soda bottle off you because you were hitting your teacher on the knees.” Mike took two steps into the room but stayed a safe distance away. He learned fast. “She tried to take it away.” “What were you doing with it?” Sarah almost dreaded the answer. Candid, unvarnished truth was Prissy’s way. “Smashing Billy Watson’s brains out. He called me a dirty retard.” Sarah refused to even glance in Mike’s direction. She hoped he had a most unhappy Christmas. If he’d only let Prissy stay safely in her own room. Sarah wasn’t sure whether to cry or use Prissy’s “baton”. “I want you to wait here, Prissy. On that chair. While I talk to Ms McAllister. Do you hear me?” Prissy nodded but her eyes offered anything but acquiescence. “She’ll stay right there, Mr. Hartman.” Prissy’s head snapped around at Marianne Wolfe’s words. Old eyes, familiar with the machinations of children, met Prissy’s shifty glance. Prissy’s dropped first. Prissy would stay put. Mike closed the door behind her. “What do I do? I can’t suspend her during vacation. And it’s pointless to wait until next year. It’ll be ancient history by then.” For the first time all year he was actually asking her advice. She’d grin if she wasn’t worried sick about Prissy. Would this put her back in the psychiatric hospital? “Write up an incident report. Get Jane Nance to sign it with you. Talk to the grandmother and suggest she contact Prissy’s psychiatrist. And pray it’s just an isolated incident and not a regression.” She’d offered excellent, professional advice. He stared as if she had holly berries growing out of her ears. “Regression? She’s done this before?” “Not for almost a year. She used to lose control. She’s done a lot better.” “Until today.” “She couldn’t take the stress and the stimulation. She is emotionally disturbed.” His eyebrows rose like hirsute question marks. “What’s she doing in your room then?” “She’s emotionally disturbed/learning disabled. She started in Web’s room but they didn’t get on. We reclassified her. Her math is very weak—a significant discrepancy between ability and achievement, almost two standard deviations. She stays in my room. She’d done pretty well, until today.” “What went wrong with Web? He has good control.” “Read her file.” She wanted to suggest he read all of them. The knowledge wouldn’t

hurt. “I’ll rely on you to fill in the pertinent details.” He’d asked. She’d tell. “She doesn’t like men.” His dark eyes widened in disbelief. “She’s a second grader.” “Her mother had a boyfriend who liked little girls. That’s why grandma has custody.” Comprehension clouded his face. “Poor little devil. She hardly has a hope.” “I agree with you. We’ve got a little eight-year-old messed up for life. She hasn’t a rat’s chance of growing up to be a normal woman. It’s a moot point whether her mind or her body is the most damaged. The state should bring back castration for rape.” “A job opportunity for Prissy.” Shock crossed his face as the words slipped out. Sarah stifled back a laugh. She couldn’t block the smile. “You’ve been around Special Ed. too much. You’re learning our gallows humor.” “I’m understanding why you need it.” Nice line. But did he understand enough to slow down “progress”? Time would tell. Stick to present business. “Did she break the skin?” “What?” “When Prissy bit you, did she break the skin? If she did, you might want to call a doctor. She could be infected.” His strong face blanched as realization dawned. “God,” he whispered. He looked ready to check there and then. In the silence, Sarah heard another voice in the outer office. A knock on the door and Marianne called, “Mrs. Martin’s here to get Prissy.” Prissy stood between Marianne and her grandmother, a lost child between two maternal behemoths. Scared eyes darted from grandma to Mike. A small hand clutched at the larger one, groping for courage. “Say it,” a stern voice insisted. “Mr. Hartman. I’m sorry I went off. I should behave at a party, not bash people. And… ” She took a deep breath to gather in her courage. “I didn’t mean to bite your balls. You were just here.” The fire evacuation plan made fascinating reading. Sarah studied it long and hard. If she made eye contact with anything, even the guppies in the aquarium, she’d lose it. Mother was right. She needed to get away. Big time.

***** “Bea, quit scrubbing the enamel off your teeth. I need to get on that plane.” Sarah rapped on the door. Sometimes she could laugh and tease about Bea’s mania for clean teeth. Now it irritated. If she missed that plane, she’d ground her sister for life and a day. They made it. With twenty minutes to spare. Sarah couldn’t explain her anxiety. The obsession to get out. To go. “Bring me some Doc Marten souvenirs. Something I can’t get here,” Bea asked as they stood at the departure gate. “Out to give Mimi a coronary?”

Bea didn’t reply. Sarah turned to follow Bea’s stare and almost dropped when she saw Mike three feet away. Was he following her to England? His smile could melt glass. It made her wonder why she was leaving. It made her want to flee. She couldn’t stand this emotional seesaw. Why had he come? Twenty minutes more and she’d have been safe. Did she want safety? “Came to wish you ‘bon voyage’ and give you an early Christmas present.” He held out a shiny, red paper shopping bag. With mistletoe all over it of all things. If Bea made some wisecrack, she’d need another bout of orthodontia. “Thanks.” “No.” He paused. “Thank you for this afternoon. You saved my skin.” “Literally,” she replied. And waited. What else could she say? It’s my pleasure? Fighting a mob at the London sales seemed relaxing compared to facing Mike. His slow smile implied he could read her mind. “Here’s something for the trip. Early Christmas if you like.” She took the bag without touching him. It wasn’t easy. “I’ll be here when you get back,” he whispered. She froze at the thought. Before she could move, a quick kiss landed on her cheek— the farewell of a friend. He hadn’t even embraced her but the kiss felt bright as a tattoo and burned like a brand. He half-turned to go. “No teeth marks,” he said. “I thought you’d like to know.” The crowds swallowed him as easily as he’d wrecked her composure and a misty fog shrouded her brain. She felt jet-lagged and she hadn’t even left the ground. “Mike, you think of the nicest gifts.” Delight hovered behind her voice. Or was it the distortion through the phone line? “Where are you?” She couldn’t be in London yet. “Charlotte. Reading Middlemarch and nibbling a raspberry truffle.” Her voice sounded like warm chocolate. “Thanks, Mike.” He had to keep her on the line. “I had some help.” “Help?” “Fred and Nan. Nan in particular. I didn’t know where to start.” Fred took him to task when he had asked. “Are you fooling around with Sarah? I thought there was something between you. At the christening, you barely spoke to her. Now you want Nan to pick Christmas gifts for her. What gives?” Mike had offered a few platitudes about relationships and work complications, and things being uncertain. “With Sarah?” Fred queried. “She’s the most straightforward woman on earth. If you want to know how she feels ask her.” Mike hadn’t been up to explaining. But Nan willingly listed suggestions for gifts. And now Sarah’s happiness warmed his empty heart. Too bad she was at the other end of the line. “Merry Christmas,” he said. “I’ll be waiting for you.” Sarah hung up. She’d called on impulse, delighted and surprised at his choice of gift. The last time she’d had a bag to travel with, she’d been on her way to London in

disgrace and Angel had prepared it to cheer her up. She’d made a fool of herself running after him. Was he now trying to set their relationship on friendship? How could she tell? Mike’s feelings were a mystery to her. Was it just possible they were mystery to him as well?

***** She hadn’t thought he meant it literally. All six foot one of broad-shouldered male waited among the grannies and the families at the barrier. She wasn’t ready for this. She wanted it more than anything on earth. Her mother’s words flashed through her mind. “You miss him, darling, don’t you?” she’d asked one afternoon when they stopped for lunch in Liberty’s. “Yes, and I’m probably going to make a bigger fool of myself than last time.” “Better to make a fool of yourself than miss a chance at love.” What sensible girl ignored a mother’s wise advice? Each step brought her nearer to his smile, his blue eyes and the stray curl that drooped over his forehead. She stopped, close enough to smell his aftershave, not quite close enough to touch. He crossed the gap with two strides as blue eyes seethed with emotion. Her throat tightened. “Hi,” she said. The one syllable dragged out, hoarse and rough. Anything longer, she’d have stammered. The back of her neck tightened, her heart missed a beat and her throat narrowed like the neck of a bottle. “Sarah.” His voice came rough and ragged. He wasn’t any better off than she was. But he hesitated less. His arms wrapped around her. Every inch of her felt his muscle, hard and warm against her softness. “Mike… ” she began. His kiss swallowed the rest. She’d dreamed of his lips for weeks. Puny dreams. Reality spun her dizzy and sent blood racing to her ears. Heat filled every pore and nerve ending. She sighed, moaned and kissed deeper to taste his sweetness. She’d have tottered over if his arms weren’t there to hold her. Finally, they paused for breath. “Mike, what if the school board is watching?” His mouth twitched. “Frankly, my dear,” he said. “I don’t give a Rhett Butler.” “You’ve been here too long. You’ll start to sound like us next.” His eyes softened. “I don’t think I’ll live long enough to be here too long.” He swung her case off the carousel and turned square to her. “It’s New Year’s Eve,” he said. “And I’m hungry. How about dinner?” Hungry? Famished. Chicken and plastic potato cubes over the Atlantic just hadn’t appealed. “Sounds great.” “Something to look forward to.” His dark eyes gleamed like burnished teak. Was he thinking about food? The warmth in the car magnified the scent of old leather, handsome male and chocolate. Chocolate? Yes, a box of four truffles balanced on the open change tray. “Yours,” Mike said. “I understood you like them.” “I love them.”

“Great, eat up. I heard chocolate’s an aphrodisiac.”

“Mike!” Excitement and horror had a great time scrambling in her indecision.

He smiled slower than a winter sunrise. “We’ve both waited long enough,” he said.

Why let your mind deny when your heart agrees? “You should have turned the other way. It’s nearer.”

“For Fisher’s Lake, yes. But we’re eating first.”

“Where?” She didn’t want slow, elegant dining. She wanted him, alone.

He chuckled. “A little restaurant you’ve never been to.”

“I think I’ve eaten everywhere in Seven Oaks.”

“Not here you haven’t. It’s called Chez Mike. I’m cooking you dinner.”

Not many men had left her speechless.

He pulled into the carport and cut the engine. The quiet wrapped around them in

the winter dark. He opened the kitchen door to let her through. Savory aromas of herbs and garlic filled the small kitchen. Through the archway to the dining room, Sarah glimpsed an oval table with linen cloth, candles and flowers. This wasn’t pizza in front of the TV. Perched on a high stool, glass of wine in hand, she watched Mike rinse rice and set it on the back burner. He checked the casserole in the oven. As he lifted the lid, a redolence of warmth, spices, wine and herbs filled the room. He dipped a wooden spoon into the sauce and held it out for Sarah to taste. “What do you think?” he asked with a smile that could melt permafrost. “I think you could put Catfish out of business.” Greedily, she licked the spoon, the wood rough against her tongue. “I’ve a limited repertoire. Veal Marengo is one specialty. I decided seafood Marengo couldn’t be too difficult. Hamburgers, shrimp and pot roast are my others. I’ll have to adapt to feed you.” “I’m not hard to keep happy. Just hold the meat.” “I’d like to keep you happy.” The deep glow in his eyes sent warm shivers down her spine. She took a long, slow drink from her wine to evade his gaze. The wine just warmed her more, right down to her knees. He added handfuls of shrimp into the sauce and stirred slowly as they turned pink. Scallops followed and oysters, then large, creamy-gray flakes of crabmeat. Sarah had never watched a man cook before. Not really cook. Cookouts yes, and frozen dinners and reheated specialties from the grocery deli but to sip wine while he sliced cucumbers into almost transparent slices and chopped a dark red pepper into strips before adding them to a bowl of mesclun seemed a strangely intimate, almost tender, activity. “Five minutes, it’ll be ready,” he said. The meal wasn’t the only thing ready. Maybe coming here hadn’t been such a good idea. Or maybe it was the smartest thing she’d done in her life. Mike put two plain white china plates in the oven. “I hate eating off a cold plate,” he said. “Heating them keeps things warm.” Warm was the word for how she felt sitting opposite him across the expanse of

linen, a plate of rice and seafood adding its aroma to the bayberry candles and the bouquet of the wine. All trace of jet lag faded. She felt a bubbling surge of energy and anticipation. He didn’t disappoint her. After a dessert of whipped cream, Tia Maria, sponge fingers, hazelnuts and more whipped cream, he made espresso with a little hissing, spitting and steaming machine. He carried both cups into the living room. She looked around the room with its overstuffed sofa, large wing chairs and subdued lighting. Her eyes caught the two photos on the mantelpiece. Deep unspoken instinct warned her this was a test. She crossed the gray carpet. Using the time to think and decide it was pointless. She couldn’t choose her reaction. She’d have to go on gut. “Your son and your wife?” she asked as a fair-haired child and a dark-haired woman as beautiful as a fashion plate smiled down at her. The woman was beautiful. What earthly chance did she have against that? Except she was alive. Mike answered her question with a half grunt, half nod as he placed the tiny cups on the table. “Losing both of them must have been like amputation,” she said. “It was. For a while I never knew why I kept going. Some primal instinct, I suppose. Coming here gave me a new start. I started thinking again. And living.” And she’d blocked and balked him at every turn. “I haven’t exactly made it easy for you. Have I?” He stood inches from her. “You’ve made it interesting. Very interesting.” His eyes shone bright as a summer sky and the warmth of July dog days flowed over her. “Mike,” she whispered. Whatever she planned to say, she forgot as his mouth brushed hers and his hand ruffled through her hair. She moved toward him, wrapped her arms around him, stood on tiptoe and reached to pull his head down to her. Lips touched, mouths joined and tongues greeted each other with yearning and passion. He tasted of wine and sweetness, and the sharp bitterness of coffee and she wanted to taste him forever. One of them sighed as they paused for breath. He groaned. “I’ve missed you so much it hurt,” he said. The words blended into the rhythm of her racing heart. “I’m here now.” “Yes.” His voice came rough as sandpaper. “You’re staying.” Was he asking or telling? It didn’t matter. She was. They found the sofa. They almost tumbled on it. Her hands around his neck. His hands clutching her waist and shoulders, bending her back like a bow until she rested in his arms. He propped her on pillows and leaned over her. His fingers tracing the soft swell of her breasts as his lips teased every nerve ending in her neck. She arched and sighed, praying he’d never stop. That they could lie together like this through storm, pestilence and fire drills. She felt cool air on her breasts as he unbuttoned her blouse and snapped open the clasp of her bra. His warm lips touched her nipple and heat flooded her body. He bent his mouth to suckle her breast and she cried out as warm lips touched heated skin. It was her turn. She pulled his linen shirt open, two buttons popped, she didn’t care.

All that mattered was the warm pelt of fair hair, springy under her exploring fingertips, the warmth of his chest and the thumping of his heart under her hand. She sat up, the better to slide her hands over his smooth skin and hard muscles. At his waistband she hesitated a second. Mike guided her hand downwards. She pressed against him, feeling his desire. “Easy,” he moaned. But when she eased her touch, he grabbed her and pressed her close. “I want you,” he whispered in a voice hoarse with need. “I’m here,” she replied. Somehow they got their clothes off, or at least some of them. She leaned back on the sofa pillows as he stretched over her. Power and strength flowed into her. His lips, his warm searching fingers and his soft, whispered words stirred a frenzy of need. If she’d fancied him before, now she couldn’t bear needing and not having him. His hands trailed down her belly, teasing, exciting and promising. He touched her secret places. She moaned and sighed, begging for more. Gently, he spread her legs wide. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered in awe. The pillows shifted under his weight and he entered her. She climaxed almost at once, then again and again as his strength and power worked within her. She felt herself pulled upwards in a spiral of pleasure, a maelstrom of sensation that left her panting and sweating as her racing heart pounded against his. He leaned over her, resting his weight on his elbows and grinning like an errant schoolboy. “Worth coming home for?” he asked. “I don’t think I could ever leave again.” But she did. She had to. After a slow, loving morning in bed. He drove her home, carried her luggage up to her bedroom and promised to return that afternoon. “Watch the Orange Bowl and have dinner with me?” he asked. “Bea’s due home this afternoon. I need to spend some time with her.” Reality and responsibility felt like a cold wind. “Don’t cut me out, Sarah,” he said. As if she could. Couldn’t he see she had responsibilities? “Don’t look so worried. I’ll call when the game’s over and bring pizza. If I provide the food and the wine, will you convince Bea as to the value of discretion?” “I’ll do my best.” No, for him she’d work miracles.

***** She threw a load in the washer, took the shortcut by the lake to the neighbors to pick up a grocery bag of mail and another of newspapers. Hauling them back up to the house, she wished she’d taken the car and driven the half mile or so along their winding drives. The insistent ring of the phone had her running the last fifty yards. Dropping her load on the kitchen floor, Sarah grabbed the phone just as it switched over to the answering machine. It was Peter. “Thank God, I got you, Sarah. Don’t you check your messages?” She wasn’t in the mood for Peter’s quasi-emergencies. “I haven’t had time to take my shoes off.”

“You got in last night. What in heaven have you been doing?” Smothering the temptation to tell him, Sarah listened. “Bea’s in the Bath County Hospital.” Sarah’s stomach dropped ten feet and then rose as if to exit by her mouth. “What happened?” Peter reserved his diplomacy skills for the electorate. “She went out skiing, drunk and broke her leg. I left a message yesterday figuring you’d be home.” Guilt, anxiety and resentment rushed together in a great outburst of frenzied anguish. “What do you mean, drunk? She was with Mimi for heaven’s sakes. And the whole lot of you. Couldn’t you take care of her? Where was she drinking?” “Calm down, Sarah, I’ve taken care of things and after some of the stunts you pulled in high school, a few clandestine drinks are nothing.” His words stung. Especially as her hasty departure to her mother’s had given Peter the chance to be valedictorian. A prize she’d regretted ever since. “I’m coming up there.” She had to do something. “Don’t be silly. She’ll be back in Seven Oaks Tuesday or Wednesday. She’s fine. She’ s just woozy from the painkillers and stuff they’ve given her.” Call waiting buzzed. Who else? It was Mike. “I’ll call you back in a couple of minutes,” she promised and returned to Peter. “Come up if you insist,” he conceded with absent grace. He really did reserve charm for when he needed a favor. But she got Bea’s room and phone numbers from him, reiterated her determination to drive up that afternoon and called Mike back. “What’s the matter?” he asked the minute she spoke. She explained in a few, short, guilt-ridden sentences. “I’ll take you up there.” He wasn’t asking. “Mike there’s no need.” “Yes, there is. You’re worn out. You came in jet-lagged. You had about three hours sleep last night. You’re too tired to drive a five hour roundtrip and be ready for work in the morning.” And too tired to argue, she decided as she hung up. He was right. If he drove she could doze on the way. If she wasn’t too worried to shut her eyes. Peter’s comments stewed and festered in her mind. What had he meant about Bea being drunk? What had everyone been doing around her? Knowing Peter, he was adding melodrama. Bea’d probably snitched a couple of glasses of wine. Mike rang the doorbell not thirty minutes after he’d rung off. “You don’t have to drive me. You’ll miss the game… ” Mike shook his head and kissed her before she could finish. “There’ll be other games. You need to see Bea. I’m taking you.” The thought flashed through her mind that it would be easy to love him. More than easy with his hand on her shoulder and his eyes blue and warm as a summer sky. And smile that could erase worry from the world. “Dig in the bag. The ham one is mine. Egg salad was the best I could find for you.” Two hours on the road, and hunger struck. Mike produced sandwiches, chips and sodas. Sarah munched and chewed with a fervor she recognized as anxiety. She swigged from the soda can, the caffeine and sugar more welcome than rubies at this point in the afternoon.

The warmth of the car relaxed her and Mike’s presence soothed. By the time they pulled into the Bath County Hospital parking lot, Sarah felt ready to see Bea without shaking and face Peter without ranting. Peter wasn’t there. Neither was Mimi. Bea lay in the bed, dark circles under her eyes, her hair lank and stringy around her face and a great hump under the bedclothes showing the extent of her full leg cast. “Peter said you weren’t coming.” Bea looked strangely young and lonely, like a frightened child. What nonsense had Peter been warbling? “That’ll teach you to believe a politician.” Bea laughed. Then grimaced and grabbed her side. “Don’t make me laugh. I’ve got a cracked rib.” They settled for easy conversation, without wisecracks. “Great, Sis,” Bea said as Sarah handed her the chocolates and sheaf of magazines Mike had produced as they parked. She hadn’t even given a thought to bringing anything except clean night clothes. Bea seemed happy to see Mike. A nice change from the frosty politeness or offhandedness she usually managed. She charmed, chatted the way she had as a child when she smiled and finagled her way out of trouble. “The chocolates are wonderful,” she said, passing the box around for the second or third time. “I’m dying of starvation here. The food’s awful. I’ll never complain about the school cafeteria again.” “We should have brought a pizza,” Mike said. Bea appeared willing to hug him. But the thigh-high cast impeded movement. “What a thought. I’d die happy with a slice of sausage pizza in my hands.” “You’re not dying yet. When are they letting you home? You can’t miss too much school.” “I’m okay. I’ve got into William and Mary. I don’t have to worry.” “They’ve accepted you, conditional on your last semester grades. You can’t pull the plug on school yet.” Sarah felt like a preaching schoolmarm. Bea pulled a face. Sarah half-expected her to toss her head and shrug her shoulders. “Don’t worry. One of us will graduate from Seven Oaks High after all.” Did Bea know how much that smarted after all these years? The door opened. “Doctor Burton,” Bea said, “my sister’s here. And Mike Hartman, a friend of our family.” Her tone of voice implied an almost regal connection. Doctor Burton appeared unimpressed. He checked Bea’s charts. Asked a couple of questions. Scribbled a few lines on the clipboard and then gave Sarah a look of weary disapproval. “You’re Ms. McAllister’s guardian? I need to speak to you.” Without waiting for agreement or comment, he nodded at Bea and Mike and walked out the door. Sarah followed, peeved at his curtness but he’d been up since dawn. His eyes had the cast of extreme weariness. He also looked too young to be a qualified MD. “How is Bea? She looks worn.” “She has a fractured femur and a couple of cracked ribs. You were away in Europe at the time of her accident?”

Did he really think her frivolous and negligent? Or was that her guilt speaking? Sarah nodded. “I just got back. I spent Christmas with my mother.” “Pity your sister didn’t go with you. She’d have been better off visiting her mother than carousing on the slopes.” That irritated. “I visited my mother. Bea’s my half sister. Her mother happens to be dead. I gather Bea’s injured, but not seriously. When can she travel back to Seven Oaks?” Dark eyes just looked. “Physically she should heal easily. She’s young and the break is clean. Shouldn’t have any complications. But there’s another concern.” He paused. “Your sister had a blood alcohol level of point nine when she was admitted. She’s a minor.” His silence demanded a response. “I’ve no idea what was going on. I’ll have to talk to our grandmother. It was a family party. Bea must have snuck a couple of drinks.” “Ms. McAllister, I’m not talking about a ‘couple’ of drinks. If she’d been behind a wheel, she’d be DUI.” His words echoed in the empty hallway and resounded inside her skull. “You mentioned this to the rest of the family?” He stared at her with weary cynicism. “Mrs. McAllister insinuated the lab had made a mistake. Mr. McAllister told me Bea was your responsibility.” The smile was as involuntary as sneezing. He frowned. He was lucky she hadn’t laughed. How like them all. Times like this she longed for Angel’s common sense. But then if Angel was here, she’d be handling this. “Both comments are absolutely believable. I’ll take your assurance that the lab is reliable.” Ignoring the raised eyebrow, she went on. “Obviously, I need to talk to Bea.” “Keep an eye on your sister, Ms. McAllister.” Something coiled up inside her as he walked away with a patronizing nod. Why had she gone off to her mother’s? To get away from Mike and she’d fallen back into bed with him the minute she returned. She should have stayed home and kept Bea out of mischief. “What did the old grouch say?” Bea asked. “Is he letting me out of here?” “I’ll ask him tomorrow.” Bea leaned back, her face almost as pale as the pillow. “Thanks for coming.” “Sarah’s staying with you.” “I can’t, Mike.” “Why not?” “School opens tomorrow.” He smiled, right from his eyes to the crease under his chin. Now she longed for the long, night drive home. “I’ll get you a substitute. You haven’t missed a day all year. Bea needs you.” “Yes, I do. Grandmother and Aunt Jane are still at the Homestead. They come in everyday to gripe at me. Sarah can stop them from nagging.” Bea seemed delighted at the prospect. Had she and Mike concocted this scheme while she was out in the hallway?

Mike shut her car door. In the twenty seconds it took him to walk around to his door, Sarah’s brains threatened to scramble. His door closed with a slam. As he put the key in the ignition, the interior light went out. The dark helped, lent anonymity to her coming admission. “Mike,” she said, her voice like echoing doom in her ears, “I’m afraid you could be right.” “What?” “About Bea.” She repeated her conversation with Dr. Burton, wishing her voice didn ’t sound like a cracked bell. “What can I do, Mike?” “Nothing.” Fury boiled up inside Sarah. “What the hell do you mean, nothing? She’s my sister. I ’ve got to do something.” Mike turned off the radio. He looked out into the distance beyond the windshield as if seeing wraiths and ghosts in the distance. “Listen to me, Sarah. I love you too much to lie. If Bea does have a problem, she has to do something. You can’t.” “That’s ridiculous. I’m her sister. I can’t just watch and do nothing.” Mike’s silence seemed to mock her certainty. “I’ll talk to her,” Sarah went on, “explain things. She’ll understand. You’re wrong, Mike, she’s not stupid. Besides most teenagers sneak a few drinks. I did.” “A few drinks! Sarah, get real. She was DUI.” “She wasn’t driving. I’ll talk to her.” “Talk all you want. Cry, swear and threaten. It won’t change a thing. Believe me. I’ve lived it. It’ll kill her in the end. That, or drive her crazy.” Hopelessness in his voice made her shiver. Mike started the car. “I wish I could stay with you. Try to sleep tonight. You need it. Bea’s safe for now. We’ll talk later. You need help. I’ll take you to Al-Anon if you want.” Sarah nodded. The lump in her throat jammed all speech. He drove the short distance to The Homestead and walked her to Mimi’s cottage, the same one she took every year. “I’ll call tomorrow,” he promised. And left. Sarah spent an hour with Mimi and Aunt Ellie then left them playing Bezique, only to toss and turn until the bedclothes seemed like a living shroud. Mike had to be wrong. He was a doomsayer. What did he know? It wasn’t until after two when she finally settled. As she relaxed, she went back over their conversation in the car. In the drowsy cloudiness before sleep, a realization struck. He’d said he loved her! That thought kept her awake until dawn and gave her indigestion at breakfast.

***** “Mike It’s okay. I worried for nothing. Bea and I had a long talk this morning. She told me everything. She got caught up with an older crowd. She was drinking far more than she realized and then took up a dare to go skiing. But she’s learned her lesson, with a vengeance. She’s lucky to only have a broken leg. And knows it.” Did she? Mike wondered. Sarah’s call had interrupted his lunch of chicken nuggets, tater tots, corn and ketchup. For that alone he’d have welcomed it. “Take care of her.” He

could say so much more, but why? “Mike? Last night… ” Hesitation seemed to trickle down the phone line. “You said something… ” “I said a lot of things. Some of them out of place, maybe.” “Yes… well… but… ” He’d never known her run out of words. A nice Southern gentleman would put her out of her misery. But he was a “damn Yankee”, wasn’t he? “Any particular thing, Ms. McAllister?” He remembered every word he’d said that night. The “I love you” hadn’t surprised him. He’d thought it all week while she’d been gone. “Yes… ” Again the hesitation. He loved it. “I was tired. And worried. I might have dreamed it.” He couldn’t stand it any more. “You didn’t dream it, love. I love you, Sarah. What do you think of that?” “I think it’s going to be difficult.” “Difficult?” He almost screamed the word down the phone. “This isn’t a bonus word on a spelling test! I tell you I love you and that’s your answer?” “What else can it be? You think it’ll be easy?” Too upset to hear the confusion in her voice, he snapped, “I love you. I repeat, I love you. I half-wish I didn’t but it’s too late. When you have a reply to that, you know where to find me.” He slammed the phone so hard it bounced off the cradle, hit the floor and cracked.

Chapter Eleven

He saw her car before he’d finished turning the corner. Who else would park a green Volvo outside his house? And wait there in the cold? The leaden sky promised the snow forecast for today. “Mike?” She stood five feet from his car, waiting. “Are you crazy? How long have you been here?” She ignored both questions. “Do you really wish you didn’t love me?” She’d driven two hours to ask him that? And risked hypothermia into the bargain? She was crazy, or… he hardly dared shape the thought. Did she love him? Her fingers felt like frozen meat, her cheek like marble against his lips. She shivered as he wrapped his arms around her. From cold? Uncertainty? He’d take care of both. Two matches and the fire sprung to life. He rubbed her hands between his. She still shivered. Holding her close helped. But the softness of her hair under his chin and the scent of her skin made him want to do more than comfort. “Why did you come all this way?” She’d stopped shaking. Now was time to ask. Steady gray eyes looked up at him, sharp and straight as arrows. “I told you. I have to know.” She was going to pin him to the wall for words thrown out in exasperation. He took her chin in his hand and lowered his head. Her lips were still cold, but her mouth offered warmth and sweetness. He wanted to devour her, swallow her whole, keep her in his own world forever. How she fitted to him, soft where he was hard, smooth chin against the roughness of his stubble. Hands spayed in the hollow of her back. He pressed her close until she molded into him. He lifted his mouth from hers but clasped her hips into him, watching the bloom on her face and hearing her rapid breathing gave him a great charge of ownership. “Does that answer your question?” he asked. She pushed away. “No, it doesn’t.” She almost snapped it. “Want me to try again?” What did she want? He watched her walk over to the window. Did she expect him to follow? He wasn’t a man to play games. “Mike?” She still looked out at the fast falling night. “I drove all this way to find out. Don’t distract me. When you kiss me, my brain stops working.” Good. She wasn’t impervious. No, remembering her flushed face and heaving chest, she felt a whole lot more than she’d acknowledge. She turned and looked him straight in the eye. “You said you loved me yesterday.” “Still do today for that matter.” “Don’t kid around. This is important.” They agreed on that, for a start. “I love you, Sarah. Any other way to say it, I don’t know. A week without seeing you seemed like twenty years. I had seven days to figure it out. It took about five minutes. It hit me after I left you at the airport.” If she smiled like that again, he’d cross the space she so obviously needed.

“But you said you wished you didn’t?” He squeezed up his toes and clenched his knees to stop himself from grabbing her. He should have kept his insecurities to himself. Running a hand through his hair to gain a few seconds, he pulled his thoughts together. He had to explain. She had to understand. And he figured he had about thirty seconds. “Love should be simple, straightforward. If you love me back, what will we do? Argue most of the time at school. I have a job to do and you don’t like it. It’s going to drive us crazy.” “Probably.” Four swift steps brought her to touching distance. She reached out, almost shyly. He’d never seen reticence in her before. “You’re wrong. I don’t think love is ever easy. My parents loved each other but Mom couldn’t stand living here. I thought Dad would never get over her leaving. Dad and Angel loved each other but everyone thought he was moonstruck and wrote her off as a gold digger. I don’t know what they’ll say about us and it really doesn’t matter.” Trust a school teacher to hand out a lecture when all he needed was three short words. “Say it then,” he demanded. She did better. Her hands slid up his arms with tantalizing slowness. She smiled, her eyes brimming with the power he’d just handed her. She poised her mouth a bare inch from his. “I love you, Mike Hartman.” He wouldn’t quibble over two extra words. “Mmm,” he said, when they finally came up for breath. “How about you take off your coat and stay awhile?” He chilled when she shook her head. “I promised Mimi I’d be back. She needs a fourth for bridge after dinner.” “What about what we need?” A glance at her watch and wickedness shone from her eyes. “I could squeeze out thirty minutes.” “Honey, I work great under pressure.”

***** The night she got back, they went back to Catfish’s and mapped out ground rules— school stayed one side of the moat, their private life the other. Arguments and disagreements would remain where they belonged. They both retained the right to differ professionally without prejudicing their commitment to each other. In the first wild rush of love, they just knew they could manage school, respect each other’s opinions and still hold to their own beliefs. Mike found it hard but Sarah managed well, intent it seemed on upholding her side of the bargain. Some days Mike wondered if the same woman who cuddled warm as molasses into the crook of his arm could face him off over the conference table with such fervent stubbornness. Today was one such day. “It just isn’t fair,” Sarah said, looking to Web for agreement. “Fair to whom?” Mike asked before either of them could jump in. “The kids, of course,” she snapped. She had patience for her class. “They’re out for math, health, science and social studies. Between us and our aides, we spend up to two

or three hours out of our rooms. We don’t have time to teach.” “Sarah, you’re teaching, whatever room you’re in.” By the look in her eyes, she hadn ’t taken that as reassurance. Web jumped in as if to forestall Sarah’s reply. “It’s not just the time we’re losing for instruction. Many of the regular teachers are unhappy.” “They’re feeling dumped upon,” Sarah added. “Much as we try, we can’t always be there with our kids.” “They hate my kids’ guts.” Web frowned and folded his arms on his chest. Mike met Sarah’s eyes. They didn’t hold a grain of sympathy. “It’s something everyone has to work on. People will have to adapt and accept the students’ differences.” “Try asking the second grade teachers to accept Prissy’s differences.” That hit hard. She didn’t play softball. No matter. “We’re expanding inclusion at the midyear point in February. I’ll talk to everyone on Wednesday. I’m counting on your help.” The silence told him he presumed. Sarah offered an uneasy truce. At least halfway. “Suppose we talk to the classroom teachers and see which students they can handle?” Mike shook his head. “We can’t pick and choose among students.” “Why not? It’s called individualization. Adapting programs to meet students’ needs.” She leaned forward in her seat. One blouse button had slipped undone. Mike pressed his hands on the desktop and willed himself to concentrate on instruction. He half-rose in his chair. Sarah threw him a warning look that suggested she’d read his thoughts. “It’ll work out,” he assured everyone. No one seemed inclined to accept his word. But they understood his signal to leave. Sarah fumed. She was tempted to cancel their date tonight. But they had a pact and she’d stand by it. Besides, she loved him so much it hurt. Why hadn’t she fallen in love with a nice, safe, lawyer, banker, con-man or ax-murderer who would have let her do her job in peace and wait comfortably in the wings for her to come home? Sarah used the peace of Bea’s absence to shed the frustrations of work, take a shower and lay the table, using a clean cloth and fresh candles. Mike had promised to pick up Tom Jones at the video store. She’d contemplated buying oyster, lobster and chicken so they could reenact the inn scene but settled for frozen lasagna. School was wearing her down. The only nights she slept well were the nights they made love. She hadn’t told Mike that. He’d take it as an invitation to move in and that would blow the trustees’ minds. The door opened. Her breath snagged. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. If they could just spend their lives alone and never go back to Lemmon Park.

***** Sarah watched Tremaine get off the bus with fists clenched under his armpits and a scowl as sour as clabber. The driver led, with set mouth, popping eyes and a shaking hand clutching a referral form. “I won’t take any more. Yelling, talking back and hitting everyone with his book bag. I’ve written him up.”

It would happen the morning she was on bus duty. “Hitting other students. Talking back. Kicking the back of the seats and giving the driver the finger.” Enough by any measure to get him off the bus for the rest of the week. That would give him and the driver a chance to cool off but probably meant he wouldn’t come to school. Sarah wrung a reluctant apology from Tremaine by dint of giving him her best teacher’s “look” and sent him to sit at the top of the steps. He perched by the wall. His fists still balled, muttering to himself about the injustice of life and the prejudices of teachers and bus drivers. Give him ten minutes, he’d calm down. She’d keep him in the room today. Mike needn’t know and the third grade teachers wouldn’t complain. She succeeded, or so she thought. True, Tremaine didn’t do much work and muttered all morning about how his mother would “whop” him but they made it to lunch. She didn’t see the first blow, but watched the green cafeteria tray descend on Tremaine’s head. He ducked, spilling half his tray. The remaining contents sailed in a wide arc as he swung at his assailant. Two children ducked to avoid the barrage in their direction. One almost missed getting a face full of green Jell-O. Wild splodges of lasagna hit the wall. A spray of chocolate milk shot out as a carton burst on the floor. With the skill of years, she stepped over the mess, grabbed Tremaine by both shoulders, swung him away from his adversary and held him still. A flailing foot caught her on the shins but the close quarters cut some of the impact. She eyeballed him. “Tremaine,” she whispered through clenched teeth and fought the urge to shake him. He froze as realization hit him. Sarah chose to ignore the syllable that hissed from between his teeth. “To the office. Now,” she spoke in a stage whisper. The whole cafeteria heard. Tremaine stood in shocked silence. Sarah took the chance to glance around. Cindy Charles, the third grade teacher, had the other child with a vise grip on his wrist. Sarah knew him, Rayshawn Higgins, the cousin of one of Web’s students. Cindy was shaking, her face red with anger. Rayshawn looked ready to blow. And Tremaine eyed him, eager for a rerun. “March!” she hissed and both children moved. Cindy still grasped Rayshawn’s arm as if they were welded together. As they left the lunchroom, the shocked silence burst into a babble of chatter. Mike looked up as she knocked on his open door. His eyebrows flickered up as he smiled. Was he remembering the first time she’d disturbed his lunch with a discipline problem? She’d snap him back to the present. “Mr. Hartman. We had a fight in the lunchroom.” He pushed his tray aside. Resting his elbows and forearms on his desk, he leaned forward and eyed the two combatants. “Tell me what happened,” he invited with a smile. “Fighting.” Cindy almost spat the word out. “And this child started it.” She poked Tremaine on the arm. Sarah tightened her hold on his shoulder. The last thing she needed was Tremaine going for Cindy. “I see.” Mike nodded. Sarah hoped he did. He stood up. And looked down at the two miscreants. “Tell me what happened.

One at a time. Who hit first?” Learning from experience, Sarah vowed not to meet Mike’s eyes. She fixed her eyes on the yoke of his shirt. But had a hard time not thinking about the shoulders underneath. The thirty-second silence seemed like ten minutes. “I hit him,” Rayshawn said. “He said ‘yer momma’.” He looked up at Mike, as if expecting his explanation to justify everything. Tremaine mouthed silently, watching Mike from under his dark lashes. Meeting Mike’s eyes, he muttered, “He called me the ‘n’ word.” “Anything else?” Mike asked. He shouldn’t have. Between accusations and insults, they told about trouble on the bus this morning and the argument between Rayshwan’s aunt and Tremaine’s mother over a fight on the street yesterday afternoon. Mike silenced them when they started about what Rayshwan’ s cousin had or had not said to Tremaine’s mother at bingo on Sunday night. “Outside,” he said. “Both of you. Get your emergency cards from Mrs. Wolf and wait outside until I call you in.” As he closed the door behind them, he turned back to Sarah and Cindy. “Two days’ suspension for both of them and a call home. Agreed?” Sarah nodded. “Tremaine’s already off the bus until the end of the week.” “Not his day,” Mike said with a shake of his head. “Let them run concurrently. I don ’t want him out for five days. His mother won’t bring him, I assume?” His eyes met Sarah’s. She nodded. “All right. I’ll take care of the calls.” “It’s not all right.” Cindy’s voice rose two pitches. “This would never have happened if that… that… boy… wasn’t eating with my class. They should be on their own. Not causing trouble with the other students.” Sarah forbore to mention that Rayshawn had aimed the first blow. She watched Mike ’s jaw tighten and the crease form between his brows. Let Cindy have her say. Maybe he’ d listen. He didn’t. “Miss Charles, we’re here to discuss a fight in the lunchroom, not the pros and cons of inclusion.” Cindy hadn’t finished. “I just think you need to know what caused this fight.” Mike stood up, his hands flat on the polished desktop. Those hands were a major distraction. “My guess is that fight started back in the fifties when someone’s grandfather made a comment to someone else’s great-aunt.” Sarah felt her mouth twitch. In six months Mike had learned a lot.

***** She broke their rules that evening. “Cindy was half-right today,” she said, leaning against his knees as she watched the flames behind the fire screen. His hand squeezed her shoulder. She waited for it to slide downwards. Instead, he gripped tighter. “No shoptalk, Sarah.” She sensed the slow exhale as he shifted his legs. She looked over her shoulder at him, placing her hand on his in case he pulled back.

“She’s unhappy. Lots of people are.” “Then they need to apply for transfers.” His words cut. Did he mean her? Maybe it would make things easier. But she’d be damned if she’d leave Lemmon Park. She’d built this program from nothing. “Smooth your prickles,” he said. “Don’t even think it. I’d block your transfer.” The assurance in his smile infuriated. “Try. People owe me favors. I could call them in.” “And I have the superintendent’s ear.” “Shades of Van Gogh,” she muttered. Grinning, he slipped down beside her on the rug. If she had any guts, she’d be able to resist the curve of his mouth and the heated gleam in his dark eyes. But she didn’t want guts, she wanted him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, brought her face up to his and lost herself in his body. Later, after he’d driven her home, she soaked in the bath and worried. She’d wanted to side with Cindy this afternoon but loyalty to Mike had stayed her. Was she letting her feelings for him cloud her professional commitment? She’d tried to argue it out this evening. That hadn’t lasted long. She knew his reply, “Administrative policy”. But he was so committed to change, he ignored or never noticed the day-to-day problems the rest of them wrestled with. If she could just get Mike to let her run her own program, induce Bea to get better grades and keep her relationship with Mike under control, life would be perfect. She grinned to herself. She didn’t want much, did she? She let the water run out, toweled off and smoothed lotion over her body. She noticed her body a whole lot more these days. A faint red mark on her breast caught her attention. She smiled. At least it wasn’t on her neck. Last time she’d had to wear turtlenecks for a week.

***** “I need to talk to you.” Sarah stood in the doorway, with a smile that warmed a cold March morning. “It’s Tremaine and Rayshawn.” She walked over and leaned her hands on the edge of his desk. “Rayshawn spent all Friday boasting, and I quote, ‘He’d whop Tremaine’s ass if he showed his face in school’.” “And you’re worried?” “Yes. The kids are. It’s more than just a tiff. It’s out of hand.” She was seeing far too much in a closed incident. “Idle threats, Sarah. Kids playing macho.” Her face shaded with disbelief. “Macho kills a lot of people.” They day passed without incident. Tremaine stayed home. By Wednesday Mike decided Tremaine’s attendance was obligatory and drove with Gerri to fetch him. He scowled from the backseat, hugging his book bag to his chest and mouthing silent threats all the way to school. During lunch, Mike saw Tremaine sitting in solitary state with Sarah. At a nod from her, Tremaine left to dump his tray.

“Things going well?” Mike took Tremaine’s vacated chair. Sarah looked up from a half-eaten fish sandwich. “I’ve kept him in my room today. He’s primed to blow again and I don’t think Cindy’s up to that.” “And eating with the others?” “I’m not out to create trouble.” An unspoken accusation hovered behind her calm tone. “He needs to follow his regular schedule.” “Not today, Mike.” Her eyes met his, gray as granite and harder. He could feel her willing him to agree. Today he’d concede. Today. He nodded. “Not today. Tomorrow. Get him back in the room tomorrow.” He looked up to see Tremaine staring at him like a spooked animal. That look stayed with Mike all afternoon. Sarah had been wise to keep the child apart. But she couldn’t all week. He had to adapt to reality and reality for a child meant a regular classroom and other kids. Bus by bus the lines filed past Mike’s office. Despite Sarah’s dire warnings, the day had passed without incident. In five minutes Tremaine would be on the bus and they could all relax, maybe. Of course he had to get home for them to be completely off the hook. Marianne called the last bus, anxious children lined up, a few stragglers followed. Mike watched, determined Tremaine would leave peacefully. He wasn’t there. Neither were the other children who dismissed from Sarah’s room. “Ms. Wolf, call Ms. McAllister’s room and remind her bus forty is here.” Mike wanted everyone home, especially Tremaine. Sarah’s voice cracked back through the ancient intercom. “Thanks, Ms. Wolf. Call Mr. Johnson, please.” Cold lead formed in Mike’s stomach. Marianne’s eyes reflected his rushing panic. Sarah had just given the crisis password. Some intruder threatened her. She’d never use that phrase without dire cause. Mike forced calm under the sweat beads on his skin. “How many students left in the room?” he asked Marianne. “Five, maybe six.” Her shaky voice and the graying hue of her dark skin told he hadn’t imagined Sarah’s words. “Right.” How inadequate language was. Right was the last word to describe this situation. “You know whom to call. I’ll go downstairs.” In the hallway he caught a teacher’s eye. “Load the bus, but hold it out there.” Children nudged and bustled out, oblivious to the mounting tension. Mike strode toward the stairs, praying this was some twisted wit on Sarah’s part, but knowing it wasn’t. Five yards from her open door, he heard Tremaine. “I mean it, Ms. McAllister. I ain’t joshing.” “Let the others get the bus. It’s been called twice. They need to get home.” Mike moved a few paces closer, trying for a view though the half-open door. “They ain’t going until you promise.” “Tremaine, I can’t promise. Let them go. Then we’ll talk to Mr. Hartman.”

Bargaining? What the hell was going on? Mike stepped forward. “Will he shoot us, Ms. McAllister?” Prissy’s wobbly, shrill voice stopped Mike’s foot in mid-stride. He couldn’t hear Sarah’s reply. But he did hear another voice. “Shit, Prissy’s wet herself again.” “John, you may not say ‘shit’ in school.” In better circumstances, Mike would have chuckled at Sarah’s line. Rivulets of sweat trickling down the cold goose bumps on his back froze everything but cold terror. He’d sat through a score of discussions about weapons incidents. Now he was living one. And five children and Sarah shared the room with an armed and angry nine-year-old. “Last call for bus forty. All students for bus forty.” Marianne’s voice resounded in the quiet room. Normalcy intruding insanity. “Let them go.” A whisper. Quiet with desperation. He heard the prayer under her words and hoped God was listening. Long seconds of silence. His heartbeat echoed like a tom-tom. Sweat chilled as it trickled down his back. What was happening to Sarah and those kids trapped in there? “Take your book bags with you.” Feet scuffled. A chair banged. A box of pencils rattled and skittered to the floor. A gross of wooden echoes in the sweaty room. Mike backed against the wall as short shadows gathered behind the door. It fully opened. Jimmy Morris’s dark eyes met Mike’s. Mike raised a finger to his lips and moved his head from side to side. Jimmy mimicked the gesture and nodded, his eyes wide as doorknobs. Prissy followed, red-eyed with mortification from the spreading stain on her pants. Peter dragged his book bag and Vernon looked ready to cry or faint. They crept along the hallway like scared mice. Eyes on him and fingers glued to their closed lips. Sarah taught them to follow directions. Sarah! Dear Lord. Stuck in that room with an angry, gun-toting nine-year-old. He felt his mouth twist in an unamused grin. Horror had come full circle and seized him in its maw. He had to grab Sarah back. Before that crazy child… In movies the SWAT team always arrived to save the day. He doubted Seven Oaks had one. “Put it in the drawer. Then I’ll buzz Mr. Hartman on the intercom.” She might be talking about a roll of masking tape. Mike could hear Tremaine thinking. The overhead water pipes gurgled and knocked and the old clock ticked on the classroom wall. Mike smelled his own sweat. He hoped Tremaine couldn’t. “Promise I can talk to him?” “You may talk to him.” Only Sarah would correct grammar at gunpoint. “When you put that thing away.” She made it sound like chewing gum. Long seconds stretched like sorrow. The drawer slammed. Mike imagined the thick oak drawer being rammed shut. He hoped to heavens the gun was inside. “Mr. Hartman?” “Sarah?” He never stopped to think she’d called him through the intercom. She stared. And smiled. St. George must have earned a smile like that, after he slew the dragon. “Tremaine needs to speak to you.” Tremaine appeared reluctant to do anything except scowl. “Tremaine?” The child raised his eyes at Sarah’s quiet insistence.

“What?” She looked, eyes square on his, brows raised, neck stiff and hands clenched to prevent trembling. Mike wanted to pull her close and let her shake and tremble her fears away. But an angry nine-year-old stood between them. “We have to go upstairs.” How did Sarah keep her voice so steady? “Come on.” Mike held out his hand. Tremaine blinked, stared from Mike to Sarah. Awareness flickered behind his glassy eyes. “No,” he screamed and with a wide sweep of his body took down Sarah’s desk and a printer with his flailing arms. Hands pounded the upturned desk as his feet scattered papers and books. Mike went to grab him but slick and fast as a spring trout, Tremaine sidestepped, ducked under Mike’s arm and darted for the door. Elijah’s bulk stopped Tremaine. Caught in Elijah’s massive arm, Tremaine fought, kicked and unleashed a stream of profanity. It took the three of them to subdue him. Three hours later, Mike decided nothing would subdue Sarah. They stood in the parking lot. The school finally locked and every child, parent, police officer and hastily summoned counselor departed. “You can’t mean it, Mike.” “I’m pursuing this to the limit, requesting the school board to sanction expulsion and pressing every criminal charge in the book.” “He’s a third grader.” Mike ignored the catch in her voice. She had to see reason and support him. “Convicted, he’ll be a third grade felon.” “Damn you, Mike Hartman. You follow your own, precious way, do what you want and ignore the children you mess up doing it.” Words congealed in his mind as she slammed her car door. He wanted to call out. Grab the door handle. Step in front and block her exit. Make her see reason. He couldn’t. Her parting words echoed Andrea’s last accusation. He’d left for the weekend conference and returned to find her dead. But Andrea’s weapon and solace had been alcohol. Not Sarah, she’d arm to fight him, seeing only the child and not the gun but she hadn’t seen what nine-year-olds could do with guns. He had. He had to talk to her. Explain the need to confine and punish violence. Tell her what horrors armed children perpetrated. He’d been home ten minutes, worn and longing for peace, when Tom called. “Meet me in my office in thirty minutes. I’m calling PR and Boyle, the school board lawyer, too. Emergency meeting to discuss this mess of yours.” So much for peace.

***** “You’re not really expelling him.”

“It was decided last night. We held an emergency school board meeting.” Sarah stifled the urge to scream, yell and pound on the table and ask why the school board chose locked door meetings. “You could have asked my opinion.” “Dr. Jendrasic didn’t think it necessary. We made the decision after conferring with legal counsel.” “And legal counsel sanctioned expelling a third grader. Any suggestions how he gets an education?” Sarcasm seeped into her words despite her efforts. “He’ll get an education. He’ll be on homebound instruction.” She didn’t try to stop a laugh. “Great. You know the requirements for a homebound teacher? They have to be able to breathe and stand upright at the same time.” Dark rings under Mike’s eyes highlighted the cold anger behind them. “He had his chance. He blew it.” “Mike.” Words jammed in her throat. And she’d thought he’d listen. More fool her. “Let it go. The decision’s been made. You’d best spend your energies preparing work for Tremaine’s homebound teacher.” Sarah left, resisting the urge to stomp out and slam the door. Mike better not think she’d finished.

***** The water looked cold. The wind really was. But Sarah sat on the edge of the pier looking for calm and direction in the murky depths. She’d take the boat out but she’d put it up for the winter. Why come to the lake with a problem? She knew. Eleven years old. The day her mother smiled through her tears in the bobbing boat… and told her she was leaving. She still hurt and always would. But even as a child she’d recognized her mother’s peace. Calm after long years of indecision and uncertainty. How she envied her mother’s focus and determination. All she managed to do was waver, mentally rant at Mike, worry about her kids and then tumble back into Mike’s arms at every opportunity. Mother would do it differently. She shut her eyes and saw Mike—tall, lean and golden in the firelight. It took little effort to imagine the feel of his lips on her breast, his hands on her heated flesh and the taste of his skin. She loved him more than she’d ever thought it possible to love. She understood the meaning of loving so much it hurt. But he’d kept her on a roller coaster of emotion all year. What could she do? Action was needed. Mike was an administrator. He saw first the school system’s needs. And wanted to cover his own butt. She put her kids first and damn the system. Wasn’t that the crux of the problem? What did he care about Seven Oaks and the kids here? Two years and he’d be gone. He might love her but he had bigger plans than staying in a no-shopping-mall town. Seven Oaks and its people had survived Grant’s army. They’d outlast Mike and Tom Jendrasic and all. She hoped she could. The cold finally got her moving. She ran up the path to the house, her breath gusting

in the cold. The warmth in the kitchen wrapped her like a snug blanket. She fixed a mug of mulled wine, the way her mother did, slapped a hunk of cheese between two slices of bread and settled by the fire. Fire watching and warm wine beat cold air and worry. They were pretty good aids to thought, too. She had three months until June. She could last that long. Then she could be safe from Mike, her heart and this chaos that passed for love.

***** Sarah waited until after ten. Mail pick-up was at ten. Mary, her aide, could manage the class for fifteen minutes. Three were absent anyway and had been since the incident. She’d have to mention them to Gerri. Mike looked up and smiled as she tapped the door. What a smile. It could melt permafrost. But not her resolve. “We need to talk. I’d planned to wait until after school.” “No time like the present.” “What about your class?” “My aide’s with them. It’s just a minute.” Dear Lord give me strength to finish what I’ve started. “There’s a lot I want to say. You were upset yesterday. I decided to wait.” His fingers grasped his pen. He clicked the end repeatedly. She wasn’t the only one strung out… Good. “It doesn’t matter.” At that, he stared. “I know how you took this to heart, Sarah. Circumstances like this are unsettling.” Brother, was he master of the understatement. “It really doesn’t matter… now.” A crease knotted between his eyes. Did she imagine he’d gone a little pale? Good. “What do you mean?” “I’ve requested a transfer. I can’t work for you anymore.” Forget pale. He flushed from his neck to his hairline. His knuckles whitened. A little more pressure and that pen would snap. “Don’t play bargaining games.” Anger strangled her larynx for a good twenty seconds. Her face probably matched his. “I’m not. I’ve mailed in my request.” “I’ll block it.” Muscles in her mouth twisted it into a smile. “Try.” The pen dropped out of his fingers. She waited. He seemed to shrink inside the shoulders of his jacket. “Don’t.” One word snaked into every recess in her soul. She’d been wise to wait until the mail went. “I already have. I won’t oppose you the rest of the year. Don’t worry. Reorganize to your heart’s content.” “Sarah. Don’t. The school needs you. The kids need you. Dammit, I need you.” She shook her head. It was safer than trying to speak. He pushed back his chair. Two steps and he stood inches from her. She smelled his aftershave and his fear. She willed him not to touch her. “What about us?”

“I think it was a big mistake. Mixing work and… us.” Her voice was a whole lot steadier than her heartbeat. “Dammit! I need you, Sarah. You’ve been the light of sanity. I love you. We’ve got something few people have.” How right! She had a hurt that seared her soul. Her mother leaving was a flicker by comparison, her father’s death, a gnat bite. Mike’s eyes glistened above dark circles. He’d lost sleep too. Good. “Sarah—” She wouldn’t let him go on. She’d told Mary five minutes and only a fool would prolong this agony. “Mike, it’s over. We made a mistake. People do. There’s nothing between us but the job.” She didn’t wait for his answer. She couldn’t. Her nose was liable to grow like Pinocchio’s.

***** “Let’s go out.” “Not tonight, Bea. I’m not up to it.” Spoiled Southern belles didn’t give up. “Sis, you’ve been moping for days. Let’s go to Bubba’s, anywhere. You need to cheer up.” And she thought she’d hidden it. She’d certainly tried. “Okay.” If Bea wanted her company and seemed disposed to be social, she’d go along. They’d had some ups and downs the past week or so. And why sit home? She wasn’t becoming a recluse just because she had a broken heart. “Bea, baby.” Bubba came from behind the bar to pull Bea close to his paunch. She pulled his ears the way she had since infancy. Sarah smiled. Some things never changed. But some did. Her career for instance. She pushed the thought away, declined the country fried chicken and ham biscuits Bea ordered and settled for macaroni and cheese and a broccoli casserole. Bea had more sparkle than a bottle of soda. She chattered with Bubba to the point of flirtation, told Star she wanted her cornbread recipe as a birthday present and even walked over to gossip with old Moses, a wizened, baldheaded character who’d been an almost permanent fixture in the place since he’d retired from the railroad in 1975. It rang strange. The place filled with people stopping for beer on their way home from work, Bea seemed on first name terms with half of them. Bubba had mentioned Bea coming in months ago. He hadn’t said she was a regular. Coming down to see Bubba and Star was one thing. She did it. She knew some of the old regulars from Angel’s days. But Bea hanging out with the railroad workers and the boys from the switch factory? Sarah stopped herself. She was sounding like Mimi. Why shouldn’t Bea come to her uncle’s restaurant? Even if Bubba would laugh to hear it called that. They were halfway through slabs of Star’s red velvet cake when Mike came in. Sarah had her back to the door and sat too far away to feel the draft. The jukebox whined loud enough to drown out the door opening or any sound of footsteps. But she knew. She fought… and beat the urge to turn and look. She chewed with a thoroughness that would have masticated old camel. “There’s your sexy principal.”

“You mean Mike?” Who was she fooling? She’d never done well at playing it cool. Bea hadn’t even listened for her reply. Just rose up from the bench, waved and called, “Mike, over here.” He came. What else could he do? Snub the pair of them in front of everyone? She heard every footstep across the floor even though Willie Nelson’s voice drowned most conversation. “Hi, Sarah, Bea.” She could smell him. Polo Sport aftershave. He never wore it to school, only when he went out. Well, he was out now and out of her life, almost. She turned and nearly choked when she saw his smile. “Hi.” They were being economical with words. It hardly mattered. Bea filled in. “Having supper? Join us.” Bea even made to scoot down the booth. Sweet heaven. No. “Thanks but Bubba’s fixing me a hamburger. Should be ready.” He half-turned to leave. “Have a nice weekend.” He sounded like a line from a greeting card. Sarah couldn’t face another mouthful of red velvet cake. “Let’s get home. The weather’s nasty.” Bea said nothing until they left the lights of Bubba’s behind and crossed the railroad tracks. “What happened, Sis?” “About what?” Who was she fooling? Certainly not Bea. “About Mike the mouthful. At Thanksgiving he ogled you over the candied yams. The pair of you walked into my hospital room after Christmas looking as if you’d barely managed to get dressed. And today you act as if eye contact will give you AIDS.” “You’ve really watched, haven’t you?” “Why not? You’re my big sister. Who taught me all I know?” Better hope Bea doesn’t have to learn the hard way. “It was a big mistake to combine work and dating.” “I don’t know. That’s how Dad met Mom.” “Trust me, Bea. It’s a mistake.” “Who dumped who?” “Whom.” The reply was automatic. Bea wasn’t stopped. “Don’t pick on grammar. Not now. I want to know what happened.” Sarah told. Only leaving out the Plantation Inn. She’d promised never to tell that and even now, she’d keep her word. She finished the story parked in the drive for ten minutes. Bea took a deep breath in the silence. “Poor old Sis. So the old principal has been riding your case all year?” “I should have let it stop at my case.” Bea’s eyes popped as Sarah realized what she’d said. They grabbed hands to stop each other shaking. It was pointless. A great laugh rumbled up from deep in Sarah. Bea’s mouth quivered and great peals of hilarity echoed in the closed car. They fell on each

other’s wobbly shoulders and steamed up the windows with their laughing. The next morning Bea slept until one. When she woke she could have shown Oscar the Grouch a few new tricks. Sarah shook her head and wondered about the overnight change. By Sunday, Sarah had had enough of adolescent hormones. She went out to the athletic club to work off her tensions and the last vestiges of Star’s cooking. She prayed Mike was home watching TV. That prayer was answered. But she didn’t get home scot-free. She ran into Fred on her way out. “Busy tonight?” She hadn’t finished shaking her head before he insisted, “Have dinner with us. Nan hasn’t seen you for ages. If you don’t watch it, Luke will be walking and you’ll have missed him crawling.” “Can’t let that happen,” Sarah replied. She had planned on staying home but supper with them seemed a much better idea. Sarah offered to clean up after dinner while Nan nursed Luke in the relative peace of the family room. “How’s your love life?” Fred asked as Maria and Damian chased each other around the kitchen table. Sarah met his eyes and shrugged. “It comes and it goes.” “Things not working out?” “That depends on what you mean by ‘things’.” She scraped a couple of plates and gave her attention to the garbage disposal. “Just wondered how things were between you and the best-looking man you’ve dated since you and I parted.” He pulled a small plastic dog out of a heap of mashed potatoes and the handed the plate to Sarah. “Things you find in the food in this house,” he muttered. “Well?” “About the purple spaniel?” she asked. “About you?” “Mike and I aren’t seeing each other except at work. It got too much. We really don’t see eye to eye. It’s easier this way.” She hadn’t convinced him any more than she had herself. “Decaf okay?” he asked as he switched on the coffeemaker. “If Nan drinks regular Luke never sleeps.” Sarah nodded. Maria ran into her legs. She bent to pick the child up but she ran off as fast as she came, her brother in fast pursuit. The coffee started dripping. “Sorry to hear about you and Mike,” Fred said as he poured coffee. Sarah shrugged and assumed a nonchalance she’d never feel. “That’s the way it goes. He was nice but not for me.” Fred seemed ready to ask another question. “You spoiled me for other men, Fred. They all have to live up to you.” Make a joke, you can’t laugh and cry at the same time. She hadn’t convinced him. His dark eyes flickered with skepticism. “Get real, Sarah. Ours was adolescent hormones.” And how, she thought to herself, does that differ from adult hormones? They both hurt. But this time she had no irate father ready to send her off to

boarding school the other side of the Atlantic. She had to handle Mike herself. She warmed her hands on the mug and inhaled the fragrant brew. Fred made the best coffee in the world. But she refused a second cup. The open contentment between Fred and Nan seemed to only accentuate the turmoil in her own heart. She’d made the right decision she told herself as she drove home. It would never have worked out between her and Mike. They were too different, their goals too far apart and their philosophies opposing. He’d blown into town and caught her in his whirlwind. She’d just stay firm until it blew out again. Two days later she found how hard that was going to be.

Chapter Twelve “I want you to withdraw your transfer request.” Sarah sat back in her chair and eyed Mike. He’d said he needed a few words with her during lunch. She’d left her charges chewing on corn dogs and carrot sticks and sworn to herself she’d stay composed. It wasn’t easy. He leaned forward, his arms resting on the polished desktop. He’d rolled his sleeves up. She didn’t want to think about those arms around her. Or the taste of his skin. He gripped a pen between his fingers. The sinews in his hands and wrists showed lighter under his skin. So he was strung out, too. Good. That made them even. “I’m not prepared to do that. I want a transfer. Next year.” “Don’t leave like this.” The words almost hissed out. “I’m not leaving, yet. There’s three more months of school.” By clenching her stomach, she kept the snag out of her voice. “This school needs you. You can’t walk away from these kids.” How like a man! Play guilt games would he? Good luck, Hartman. He wouldn’t get her that way. “It’s time I moved.” her voice stayed steady. She wished her pulse rate would. He ground the end of his pen into the desktop. “Dr. Jendrasic is concerned about your request. We talked—” “At another closed-door school board meeting?” She hadn’t meant to interrupt. She’ d planned on staying icily composed. That was impossible. If the two old buddies were going to mess her around, she’d outmaneuver them. If not, she’d just outlast them. “No.” She heard the tension in his voice. Good. “Your transfer may not be in the best interests of the students. We have to consider that.” She managed to stifle the laugh that nearly choked her. “Why this sudden concern? A bit late after jerking everyone around all year with his innovations. Has the newspaper been itching to blow Tremaine’s story? Is that his concern?” The sharp crease in his brow and the jerk of his chin told her she’d hit the truth. “What do you know about that?” His voice could have frozen alcohol. She felt her mouth turn up in a smile. Her head nodded of its own volition as she watched him go from pale to red. “Just a lucky guess,” she said. “I’m not stupid.” Cold anger flooded every cell in her body. This was their big concern. Adverse publicity. Brother, had she been right to walk away from him. And had she been fooled. She stood up. Resting her palms on the edge of his desk she looked down at him, her heart thumping like tribal drums but her mind clear as morning. “Listen, Mike Hartman, and listen well. Dr. Jendrasic will want to hear all of this. Despite the fact my grandmother owns the paper, the editor’s my cousin Leo and the education reporter was in high school with me, I don’t talk to them about the school system. I’d consider it unprofessional. Remember, we have a lot of parents who are probably concerned about Tremaine’s behavior. No doubt twenty or thirty of them have been dialing the phone. “I’ve spent six years building up this program. When I came to this school, I had a

chalkboard and ten desks in that room. I did the rest. You and Dr. Jendrasic want to break it up in the interests of innovation and educational fashion. Fine. Go ahead. But don’t expect me to stay and watch. My transfer request stays and if it gets blocked, I’ll file a grievance. If you make me stay, you’ll regret it.” She straightened, ready to leave. “I’d still like you to reconsider,” he said, his voice tight and rough. Beads of perspiration stood out on his upper lip. Every muscle in his face seemed tight. His eyes stared back at her. They showed not a trace of emotion. She’d never seen such dead eyes in her life. “No way,” she said, “unless… ” “Unless… ” he repeated, a glimmer of interest in his voice. “Unless you want to reconsider Tremaine’s expulsion.” His eyebrows met over his nose. She felt the warm hiss of his breath as he stood up and leaned toward her, eyes level, minds a continent apart. “Never. I don’t play games. I don’t make deals. Tremaine has forfeited the right to remain in school.” “He’s a third grader. Nine years old.” What a waste of words. “Nine-year-olds can kill. Armed nine-year-olds have no place in school.” She felt her shoulders sag. Her heart followed. “My request stands,” she said, her voice so low, she barely heard herself. “You’d throw your career away over this?” Cold anger burned in her at his words. Was that all he thought mattered? “I’m throwing nothing away. My career goes with me. You expect me to stay and watch the last vestiges of my program destroyed?” She hoped he saw the anger that burned inside. “You’ve made a good job of demolishing six years’ hard work. To say nothing of your treatment of Tremaine. I can’t stop you but I don’t have to stay and watch.” She paused for breath, hoping he’d say something. And praying he wouldn’t. The prayer got answered. He just glared. With ice blue eyes that seared her shaky heart. “Excuse me, but I have a class ready to leave the lunchroom.” She turned and left. Standing her ground should give satisfaction. It hadn’t. All she wanted to do was shake, scream or cry. She couldn’t decide. She dreaded the next three hours, to say nothing of the next three months. She’d manage. She’d outlast them both. McAllisters were Seven Oaks. Let others come and go. She wouldn’t. Meanwhile, she had to do something about Tremaine. Tutor him herself if need be. She wasn’t about to let him lose two years’ progress.

***** The graffiti was visible across the parking lot. Sarah fancied she recognized the handwriting. Or was it instinct that told her one of her lot had been inspired by the urban muse? “White pig,” “Mike the kite,” and “Go, Tremaine, go,” were the three mildest phrases defacing the shining red bodywork. Someone had filched an indelible magic marker. Sarah just knew hers was missing. Trust her luck. She suppressed the temptation to walk past and pretend she hadn’t seen. Fool she might be where Mike was concerned, coward never.

He had his back to her as he bent over the computer screen. She clenched her fists, willing herself to forget how his muscled shoulders felt under her fingertips. “Mike?” He turned. Her mind might have locked him out, but her heart hadn’t quite managed it. It hadn’t managed it at all. “Someone’s messed with your car.” Blunt but why dither? Tell him and get out. “What?” The chair slid a good five feet as he pushed it from under him. “You’d better look.” She wasn’t about to quote. She hadn’t planned on showing him but he opened the door for her. She didn’t have much choice. Feeling his warmth as he walked beside her down the hallway wasn’t a relaxing way to start the morning. His neck and jaw turned watermelon pink. The sinews in his neck stood out. Like when he made love. But love wasn’t in his mind. Dire revenge was closer to the truth. “I’ m going to hang someone.” The words hissed through clenched teeth. She didn’t blame him. From this angle it looked even worse. Stick figures engaged in lewd activities decorated the hood. “Hold the noose for a bit.” She spoke lightly. It wasn’t easy with a warm, angry, male ten inches away. “I have a suspicion. Let me check.” “You know who did this?” She could feel his body heat rise. “I don’t know. But I can make an educated guess. There aren’t too many choices. It has to be someone who lives in the neighborhood.” “And you’ll just ask and they’ll confess?” His skepticism irked. “No. I’ll use intimidation, threats and harassment. It works every time.” She turned to go back in, then paused. “Sorry about the car.” He nodded. “Yeah. That car means a lot. I asked Andrea to marry me in that car.” Sarah exhaled. She wouldn’t let a man talking about his dead wife get to her. Besides, she had work to do.

***** Mike slapped a file folder on his desk, told himself it was juvenile to take his frustrations out on inanimate objects and slapped a second one on top of the first. A fine reward for coming in at seven a.m. to do paperwork. And Sarah. Fine for her to take it so calmly. She hadn’t had her car defaced. A call from Tom didn’t help. “Things calm down your way now?” he asked. “Fine. Everyone’s settled now.” Mike forgave himself the lie. “Keep it that way. We can’t afford anymore trouble down there this year.” Mike hung up, certain vandalism of the principal’s car came under the heading of “trouble”. He was about decide to cut his losses and call a body shop for repainting estimates when Sarah and Web came into the office. Her face glowed with satisfaction as Web closed the door behind her. “We have three confessed culprits,” she said smirking like a sweepstakes winner on TV.

Web grinned. “Want to interview them with or without witnesses?” “You both stay. They have a better chance of survival that way.” He looked at Sarah. Meeting his eyes, her mouth curled up. Just a little. He forced himself not to think about her mouth. “How did you find them out?” He doubted that guilty conscience had driven the confessions. Web swallowed a chuckle. “Sarah uses methods of extortion and duress that would raise eyebrows in a court of law.” “Don’t knock it. It worked didn’t it?” She angled her head toward the closed door. “We’ve got Tremaine’s older brother Wally plus Scott and Robert from my room. We even recovered the leftovers of the box of magic markers they stole from the supply cupboard in the teachers’ lounge.” Would this woman never stop surprising him? “They admitted it? I’m with Web. How do you do it?” “Creative coercion.” Now she did grin. The wide grin and the laughing eyes he loved. As much as he loved her. It struck him like a punch in the kidneys. “Shall I send in the clowns?” she asked. Mike nodded. Three subdued miscreants straggled in at Sarah’s word. Avoiding hers and Web’s eyes, they stared at Mike’s computer, seemed fascinated with the pens on his desk and appeared mesmerized by the pattern in his carpet. All three looked up as Mike snapped, “Well?” Exchanging glances and lip biting, they muttered apologies between squirms and foot tapping. “Sorry about your car, Mr. Hartman.” “We apologize.” “Shouldn’t have—” “We’ll clean it up.” Mike wondered about the last assurance. “You’d better get busy, hadn’t you?” They visibly cringed at Sarah’s voice. Mike wondered how she did it. She’d reduced three toughs to shaking apologetics. He ignored the fact she’d also managed to floor him. Web sent them off to find Elijah and request rags and buckets. After the door closed, Sarah looked straight at him. “I told you I’d handle it,” she said. “Yeah, you did.” He felt her unspoken accusation that he hadn’t let her handle Tremaine. Too late for that. “Tell, me,” he said, “how exactly are they getting it off? I’d decided repainting was the only answer.” Her grin and bright eyes reflected her satisfaction. “Nail polish remover. Okay if my aide runs out to get some?” By three-fifteen his car was showroom shining, even if three students had benefited negligibly from instructional time during the day. After they’d dissolved the graffiti and washed the entire car from hubcaps to roof, Elijah had produced a can of carnauba wax and given precise directions they hadn’t dared ignore. “Thanks,” Mike said to Sarah as he smiled at his restored car. “How did you do it? Thumbscrews?” “A massive and collective guilt trip. Coercion and social pressure, intimidation. It

works almost every time.” She spoke lightly but she stood an arm’s length from him. And her eyes betrayed her wariness. “I was ready to call the police this morning.” Her head jerked up. Her eyebrows creased. “I’m glad you didn’t.” “So am I.” His reasons were different from hers. But she didn’t have to deal with Tom. “How about a drink to celebrate your successful detective work?” Her immediate denial hit like a punch. “No. I’m glad we got this resolved. I’m sorry it happened. But I’ll skip the drink, thanks.” He didn’t follow her back into school. He stood in the parking lot, staring at his car and wondering where he’d got the idea life was calmer and easier in a small town.

***** Sarah stared at the streak of moonlight through the curtain gap. Insomnia was hell. Especially when she had school in the morning. She’d fallen into bed early last night, worn tired and frazzled from the day, leaving Bea and a couple of friends working on a history project. It was only three sixteen. The digital dial flicked over the minutes with a steady rhythm that reminded her of Mike’s heartbeat. She tossed and turned, and fancied she smelled him against the pillow. She shut her eyes and saw his face when he’ d first seen the artwork on his treasured car. The car he’d proposed to his wife in. She sat up. Ridiculous. She wasn’t losing sleep over Mike. Knotting her cashmere robe around her waist and slipping her feet into sheepskin slippers, she padded downstairs. She’d mix up a mug of her mother’s insomnia cure. While milk warmed on the stove, Sarah measured two spoonfuls of honey into a mug and went to fetch the brandy from the drinks cabinet. It wasn’t there. Neither was the bourbon nor the scotch. All three bottles sat on the coffee table with three dirty glasses. Sarah felt the tension between her eyes. Some history project! Grabbing the near-empty bourbon bottle by the neck, she took the stairs two at a time. “Beatrice McAllister!” Bea didn’t even grunt as Sarah stormed into the room. She lay, curled up like a baby, dead to the world. “Dead drunk,” Sarah thought to herself. She needed Mike’s advice… No, she didn’t! He claimed there was nothing to be done. Fat lot he knew. Bea would listen. If she had to be nailed to the chair to do it. But Sarah’s anger evaporated as she looked down at Bea’s fair hair fanned out on the pillow. She’d talk to her at breakfast. Back in the kitchen, the milk had boiled over. By the time Sarah cleaned the top of the stove, scoured the burned pan and frozen herself by opening a window to clear the air. She was awake for the day. She went back to bed if only to get warm. Bea scowled and jostled the table so the milk swirled in Sarah’s cereal bowl. “You act as if I’ve broken the law.” “You have.” Sarah’s planned sisterly advice chat was degenerating to a full-scale fight. “Don’t tell me you never drank underage.” “Not a whole bottle of liquor when I was supposed to be doing homework. What

about your party the night I went out? And at Christmas, you’d been drinking before you broke your leg.” “So had everyone else.” Bea stood up and shoved at the table. “You’re always complaining.” Dear lord, give me patience. “Last night, you were supposedly working on a history project.” “You don’t trust me. Do you?” Arms folded, Bea scowled. Her eyebrows almost met. “I’m trying to. How about you tell me what happened. And why.” The sigh came from somewhere near Bea’s heels. “Mary Beth and Debbie asked. What was I to do? Say ‘no’ like a nerd?” Teenage logic. Sarah was too old to sympathize. “How about saying ‘no’ like a responsible seventeen-year-old?” Bea stood up and slammed her chair under the table. “And lose my friends? I’m off to school. Want to check my book bag for contraband?” Bea swung it onto the table, spilling Sarah’s coffee. “Not unless you think I need to. I like to think I can trust you, Bea.” Bea left with a snort and a slam of the door. Sarah watched the spreading, brown river. Before it reached the edge, she grabbed a cloth. Tossing the sodden cloth in the sink, she looked out at the first roses and sunlight on the lake. A beautiful Spring morning and her life was in chaos. She couldn’t do much about Mike but she could fix things at home. She grabbed every bottle from the drinks cabinet and poured them down the sink. That would take care of that. She had to speed to get to school on time but made it. As she ran downstairs to unlock her room a thought struck. Bea hadn’t appeared to have any sort of hangover. Maybe the others had done all the drinking. Had she overreacted?

***** Mike watched the Special Ed. classes walk past the school on their way downtown. Another fieldtrip, but he hadn’t been invited this time. “You really need to see about sharing fieldtrips with Regular Ed,” he’d said, as he signed the permission form. “Next year, Mike.” Sarah’s gray eyes fixed on his as she replied. He nodded. It could wait. Next year she’d be somewhere else. Unless he pursued his threat of blocking her transfer. And that he couldn’t do. Several children caught his eye and waved as they past his window. Sarah wore a T-shirt with “I am a professional, do not attempt this at home” across her breasts. The sun shone. The dogwood trees hung with snowy blossoms and the grass was clear, bright green. Alone in the glory of a Southern Spring, he ached for one stubborn, warm and loving Southern woman—who’d cut him off. He wanted to kick his desk. What did Sarah expect? He’d been hired to revamp the programs. He could hardly sit back and refuse, just because she had other ideas. Progress was here. She had to be willing to adapt. She’d delay the inevitable by transferring but sooner or later she’d have to go with the flow.

Or maybe not. Sarah didn’t follow the tide. She preferred swimming against the current. He had an empty place in his heart. For a short, sweet time Sarah had filled it. And now… Maybe she was right. Her transfer might ease a whole tangle of tensions. But it couldn’t ease his ache. A morning doing observations kept his mind on the job. “She’s out on a field trip. I’ll leave a message for her when she comes in.” Marianne was on the phone and scribbling on a pink message pad. “Message for Sarah?” he asked as he held out his hand. “I’ll put it in her box.” Marianne handed over the slip with a grunt. Despising his inquisitiveness, Mike glanced at the message. Pixie Carini from the high school calling again. “No problem, I hope. She does have the cell phone with her. We could call—” Marianne shook her head. Seated square and solid in her chair, she swiveled to face Mike. “Sarah can handle it later. Don’t you bother her. That girl gives her enough trouble. Let her enjoy the day.” Mike agreed. Let her. She’d had plenty of the other sort since Christmas. He wanted to make everything right for her. He couldn’t. They were set on an opposition course. And her darn sister seemed determined to make life harder. The high school had called three or four times in as many weeks. As Mike pondered the ramifications and convolutions of his feelings for Sarah, Tom rang. “What’s this business of vandalism over at Lemmon Park?” The jungle telegraph no longer amazed Mike. News spread faster than strep throat. “Just a bit of graffiti. We took care of it.” A twinge of guilt stung at his choice of pronoun. “Great. We can’t afford anymore laxity up there. We had a time keeping that gun incident out of the paper.” Mike felt his jaw tighten. Why argue? Tom had his own agenda. “Don’t worry.” Tom wouldn’t. Everyone else worried for him. “Knew I could rely on you. Come over some time and have a drink with Annie and me.” Mike murmured agreement, irritated at Tom’s comment on laxity. Short of using metal detectors, how could he have prevented Tremaine’s bringing in the gun? He longed for the good old days when chewing gum was most teachers’ idea of an infraction of rules.

***** Foot-sore from the walk back to school, Sarah sat her class in front of the VCR and justified her action on the grounds that they were too tired to learn and left them with her aide while she returned Pixie’s call. “Absent all day?” Sarah heard her voice rise. What was Bea doing? She’d left on time that morning. “It’s her fourth absence this grading period. The tenth this year and that’s not keeping track of skipped classes or tardies.” “I’ll talk to her, Pixie, and impound her car if I have to. She should be shot.” Tension gathered at the base of Sarah’s skull. Just what she needed after this morning, another confrontation.

For better or worse, she was spared an argument. The note on the refrigerator, in Bea ’s scrawled handwriting, said she was spending the evening with Debbie. Sarah dialed Debbie’s number, ashamed of her suspicions but determined to speak to Bea. “We spent the day in the library. I know we shouldn’t have but we had some research we needed badly and the place is packed after school,” Bea said. “Don’t be late tonight,” Sarah warned. “We have to talk about this when you get in.” “Sure, Sis. Look, don’t worry.” Sarah almost laughed. It seemed she did nothing else. Hanging up, she told herself she should trust Bea. She stifled the sneaky voice that asked if she really could. Bea came home by ten, book bag on her shoulder and laptop under her arm, the model of a serious honor student. “Sis, I lost it this morning. I’m sorry. It just hurt that you didn’t believe me. I told Debbie there’ll be no more drinking during study. I’m telling Mary Beth in the morning.” Bea hugged Sarah and squeezed her. “I hate seeing you worried so much. I do love you, Sarah. Who else would protect me from Mimi?” Sarah hugged back, relieved that the whole thing was over.

***** “What do you mean? No homework? Where is it?” Sarah wanted to shake him. Antonio brought his homework religiously. Prissy, Scott, Tommy and the others made a hobby out of creating excuses but Antonio—she counted on him. “I couldn’t do it.” Neither could he meet her eye. Embarrassment? Guilt? A bit of both? She’d probably never know. “Why not? You always do your homework. I count on you.” “I was out with my brothers. Working the street,” he mumbled in the direction of his feet. “Do your homework first.” He nodded and dawdled back to his seat. Sarah finished correcting the homework that had been done, then pondered the implications of Antonio’s words. An omen? It was inevitable and scary. Antonio was her baby. She didn’t want him running with his felonious brothers. She wanted to avert the inevitable. And refused to even admit it was inevitable. She’d rather not think about Antonio’s siblings. She couldn’t without remembering her first encounter with Mike and right now, that equated dieting and fantasizing about warm pecan pie a la mode. Next morning, Antonio brought in two nights’ homework. She’d overreacted yesterday. Things were fine. Antonio was back on the straight and narrow. She had nothing to worry about. She couldn’t have been more wrong. At ten-thirty, Bea’s calculus teacher called to say Bea had cut class today for the second time this week. During lunch, Sarah caught Prissy in an obscene pantomime with a corn dog. Her accompanying offers to Scott and Antonio did nothing for Sarah’s appetite. Sarah isolated Prissy at the silent table, with her back to everyone to thwart an encore and worried she should have taken her to Mike. By no stretch of the imagination did her behavior fit into the limits of normal childhood naughtiness. Why bother? Mike knew about Prissy. He’d read her file from cover to cover after Christmas. And Sarah preferred to keep her contact with Mike to a minimum.

Prissy settled down after lunch. Sarah organized everyone into groups to measure the classroom and furniture for a math lesson and planned to wind up with a chapter from The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe before dismissal. In the middle of it all, the aging intercom crackled and Marianne asked Antonio to come to the office. “Odd,” thought Sarah, busy watching Jimmy trying to measure a desk with a trundle wheel. She nodded at Antonio as he left and suggested Jimmy try another measuring tool. They were packing away before Sarah realized Antonio hadn’t returned. Web stopped by while they were gathering book bags and homework together. “What’s going on with Antonio? There are two detectives and a uniformed cop in the office.” Sarah’s stomach sank down somewhere near her navel. About to rush upstairs and leave her aide to read to the class, she stopped when Antonio came around the corner. He had as much bounce as a dead puppy. He dragged down the hallway, staring at his toe caps. “Tell me what’s going on,” she demanded as Antonio came close. He never looked up. “Had a fight with Mike,” he said, his voice barely audible. “What?” Sarah’s mind spun. What was the child saying? Antonio had his moments… but fighting Mike? She grabbed his shoulders and shook him. His head lifted but his eyes stayed down. “What happened?” “Last night. I fought Mike Troung. On the street. The cops snagged me.” His legs buckled. It seemed that only her grip kept him upright. A sigh of relief cooled her lips. More than one Mike lived in Seven Oaks. But she had to talk to the one downstairs. “Get your book bag.” Resisting the urge to race to the office and demand what was going on, she tidied her desk and carefully rehearsed her questions. This time she’d keep her cool. She hadn’ t managed a thing for Tremaine, but this time Mike had better listen. Mike smelled Sarah before he looked up. She’d spritzed herself with the lavender that reminded him of Spring sunshine. Her mouth offered a half smile… but worry clouded her eyes. He felt the same. Each day brought a new twist. Why, in his ignorance, had he thought small-town life would be restful? “Mike, what happened with Antonio?” “Antonio is accused of attacking another child with a baseball bat. He admitted it.” Color drained from her face as it rose in her neck. He stood up, crossed to the front of his desk and stopped. He wanted to touch her, to wrap her in his arms. She needed closeness but wouldn’t welcome it. She’d come to him for business, nothing more. And he wanted to give her everything. “You could have called me. He is my student after all.” Hurt flicked in her eyes. Soon it would darken them completely. “I called in Gerri.” Anger, not hurt, flared in her eyes. “Why Gerri?” Two words could convey a depth of hurt. Mike’s hand rested on her wrist. When she didn’t pull back, he took her hands in his. She raised an eyebrow, waiting. “Why not me?” “I needed a dispassionate witness. I had no idea how things would go.”

“So I couldn’t be dispassionate?” Her brows met as her voice rose. “I believed you would find it difficult.” Difficult? Impossible. She was passionate about everything that mattered to her—her job, her students, even her moody, spoiled sister. Even him—once. She sighed. Weariness slumped her shoulders. Her hands slipped from his. She bit her lip as if fighting a battle for calm. She won. “What are you planning to do?” “He’s staying home for the rest of the week. Not a suspension. Spring Break begins next week. He’ll get three extra days. His mother agreed. He needs to cool off and the victim’s brother is here in fifth grade. I thought it better to avoid another incident in school.” “And the whole Troung family live down in Ash Park with the Carters. He’s probably safer in school.” Was she never satisfied? He’d made the best decision he could. “He’s a violent child.” “Not in my room he isn’t.” Her fists balled as she leaned toward him. “What is it with you, Mike? Getting so upset over nine-year-olds? These kids have problems. Violence is part of their lives. We can’t just push them aside or give up, or pretend it doesn’t exist. You have to live with it.” “I don’t and I won’t!” The way she jumped told him he’d yelled. Grabbing her shoulders, he shook her. Ignoring her wide eyes, he almost spat the words at her. “You tell me to live with violence. It’s just part of their lives. Well, I won’t. Not again. Let me tell you something, precious Ms. McAllister. I’ve seen what nine-year-olds can do. Seen it. Smelled it. Felt it. “Want to know how? One shot Joshua. In the park. One minute my son was holding my hand and talking about the squirrels and the next… he was blown out of my hand by the blast. His blood soaked my shirt and he lay on the path. I saw his sneakers and his check pants. The rest was blood. “Andrea had his blood on her face. She scrubbed for weeks. She never stopped feeling it. That started her drinking again. She died of alcohol poisoning. You tell me to ‘ live with it’? Well I do. Every damn day of my life.” Dizzy with fury, he looked at her, white as the wall behind her. “Got any more platitudes, rich girl? Any more advice for me?” Scared and shaken as she was, she pulled herself together. “I’m sorry. If I could take back my words, I would. I apologize.” She battled back tears. For whom? Herself? Her precious Antonio? Mike? Joshua? He could tell her tears are useless but he didn’t. “Yeah, Sarah McAllister says ‘sorry’ and the whole world gets put to rights.” Spiteful, petty, vicious. He was all of those and more and didn’t give a tinker’s cuss. “Mike… ” she began but stopped as she met his eyes. “Get out, Sarah. Get out and go home.” For once, she didn’t argue. Mike slumped into his chair. He felt as if an invading army had rolled their tanks over him. She’d pushed him to the limit. And he’d probably scared the senses out of her. He’d always meant to tell her, but not like that.

Sarah drove home, hands shaking and mind whirling. She’d talked of violence. Mike had given her a lesson. She’d never seen such anger or such pain. And she’d caused it. Shudders shook her soul. In his pain he’d been more naked than the night they met. Nothing she did or said could heal the hurt she’d roused. She dreaded facing him again. She would have to. The next morning, she forced herself. “I’m sorry, Mike. If I could unsay it, I would.” Dark hollows under his eyes and drawn brows implied he’d slept even less than she had. “You can’t spend the rest of the year apologizing. Forget it, Sarah.” Easier said than done. But Spring Break was two days away. She could last two days.

***** She’d already agreed that Mary Beth, Debbie and Sally could all come to the beach but exhorted vows of sobriety before they left. Sarah spent a week reading on the beach and deciding how to handle the school situation for the rest of the year. The others cruised the Grand Strand, turned the TV on too loud and kept hours that alternately shocked and impressed Sarah. But they all respected the limits Sarah put on alcohol. By the time they returned on Saturday, Sarah decided the whole worry was over. Bea talked expectantly about William and Mary next year and fussed about the rule against cars the first semester. Things were fine. Then she got home and started reading back newspapers. She couldn’t believe it! She had to. It was clear on the front page. And she’d actually felt guilty about the things she’d said. Not anymore. Mike Hartman deserved everything he got.

Chapter Thirteen

“How could you?” Sarah shrieked down the phone in reply to his groggy “hello”. “And what a lousy way to do it. I never thought you were a coward. Waiting until Spring Break to blow the news.” “Don’t get upset.” Stupid words, she was already. “I’m not upset. I’m furious! A sneaky little paragraph in the paper. Close the school and announce it when everyone’s away. Nice move. Was it your idea or your good buddy’s?” “Sarah, listen to me.” Getting a word in was like trying to dodge bullets. “Why should I? You’re taken care of. I suppose you’ve got a nice job downtown while the kids get thrown to the four winds.” The receiver went dead in his hand. Mike stared at the silent instrument, still hearing the echo of her fury. When she discovered his assignment for next year, she’d classify him fool or louse, or both. No, she wouldn’t. He’d take care of that himself. Now. Halfway across town, he realized he hadn’t shaved. Too bad. If she didn’t like it, she shouldn’t wake people at dawn on Sunday and berate them down the phone. She was lucky he’d dressed. Not that he’d noticed that ever bothering her. His tires sprayed gravel as he pulled up just yards from her front door. His clenched fist hammered on the fumed oak, then he stood back and shouted Sarah’s name at the triple hung windows. A shadow moved behind a window and a sash went up. Her bedroom. A toweled head leaned out. “What do you want?” she demanded as she hugged a second towel around her shoulders. “To talk to you.” “Now? You know what time it is?” “Thirty minutes after you woke me up.” He stepped back a pace or two to see her better. “I need to talk to you.” “Go away. I’ve nothing to say that can’t wait until Monday.” “Good. That means you’ll listen to me.” “No.” She reached for the sash. “Tomorrow.” “Now!” She glared, her arm half raised. He shouted before she could tug the window down, “You’re going to listen. You choose. I’ll say it here in the yard or you can open the front door.” The look on her face could petrify stone. “Wait,” she snapped and pulled the window down hard enough to rattle the panes. Minutes later, the front door opened. He felt his breath hiss past his clenched lips. Her look hadn’t changed, except perhaps to harden. She leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded on her chest and her face as sweet as lye. She wore a red satin robe pulled across her chest. He remembered

that robe and how it whispered and slid against smooth skin. He’d come on business. It didn’t matter if she wore a hair shirt. Who was he trying to fool? Everything about her mattered, and most of all her opinion of him. “Asking me in? Or do we talk on the porch?” With a wordless grunt, she stood aside. He stepped into the foyer. She leaned against the front door. She wasn’t about to shut it and ask him to sit down. “Well?” She tapped her foot. He sensed her counting to a hundred before she threw him out. He could talk fast. “The first I heard about the closure was when I read the paper Wednesday morning. I threw it on the table, called Tom and had a conversation that closely resembled the one we had half an hour ago.” Her neck and jaw stiffened. Bird song came through the open door and the soft smell of shampoo wafted from her damp hair. He watched the questions and decisions in her head through her deep, gray eyes. Her eyes assumed her lie-detector mode. He passed. “I’ll put some coffee on,” she said and shut the door. In the silence the sitting room clock ticked like a metronome. He followed her into the kitchen, watching her slim ankles when the sight of her firm rear in red satin threatened to distract him from his purpose. Sarah didn’t say a word as she made coffee, grinding beans so the scent of coffee and caffeine left him heady. She plunked two hand-thrown mugs on the table, without meeting his eyes. Without asking, she put sugar on the table. She remembered. He felt his mouth soften at the corners, wondering what else she remembered. Everything. She wasn’t the sort to forget. Coffee poured, she sat square opposite him. If he’d stretched his legs just a few inches, he’d touch hers. He didn’t. He wasn’t sure he had the right. Leaning on her elbows, her slim fingers circling the light brown mug, she looked him in the eye. “I’m waiting to hear it all,” she said. He took a long slow drink, letting the hot liquid warm his throat and savoring the aroma. It took his mind off the scent of the woman opposite him. “Like I said, I read the paper on Wednesday and got the news with everybody else. I called Tom at home to have a laugh over it. I thought it was the local equivalent of reporting Mark Twain’s death. I didn’t laugh after I spoke to him.” Mike winced, remembering Tom’s amused bonhomie. “Don’t sweat it,” he’d said. “I promised you two years. We’ll find a nice berth downtown for you. You’ll be fine.” At that moment, Mike understood Sarah’s protectiveness. He wanted to gather up his kids and keep them together. “What did our revered superintendent reply?” She took another sip, watching him over the rim of his mug. “He gave me the official line.” “Which is?” “We’ve just received a $6,000,000 federal grant to refurbish the school and reopen as a magnet school.” The news failed to impress. “And the unofficial line? He is your friend after all.” Mike understood how she got confessions from kids. Her eyes demanded truth. But he’d come to give it. “Between old beer drinking buddies? The school’s had too many problems this year—an illegal weapons incident, four suspensions, an expulsion, a

serious vandalism episode and four faculty transfer requests.” “And closing it will make all that go away.” Her hands clenched her mug. “A week ago, I could have harassed the board. Half of them owe my family favors. He kept it quiet and held a special meeting during vacation. It’s all fixed.” She shook her head as if to shake flies or leaves from her hair. “Poor Mike, you did everything he asked and he kicks you in the teeth.” “Sarah, I did what I believed in. It happened to be consistent with school board policy.” Her hands stretched across the table to his, warm from hugging her mug. A friendly caress, nothing more. But he meshed fingers with her like a drowning man. “If we had different parents, they might put pressure on. Some of them might. I could send Mrs. Carter down to talk to Dr. Jendrasic… ” The prospect brought a chuckle to his lips. She’d been right about gallows humor. It helped when the noose hung close. “We’ve fought all year and butted heads and come June none of it will matter a tinker’s cuss.” “Everything between us mattered.” Her breath caught. Flush spread up from the base of her neck, a couple of inches above the V of her robe. “Morning.” Sarah jumped away. Bea stood in the doorway, her long hair tousled, wearing an oversized T-shirt with “Yeah! Right!” on the front. Sharp eyes flickered from Sarah to Mike and back. She didn’t smile. “Morning, dear,” Sarah replied. “Coffee’s on the countertop.” Bea grunted a reply as she filled a mug. Leaning against the countertop, bleary eyes leered at Mike. “Didn’t hear you come in last night. Must have taken your shoes off.” “Behave yourself,” Sarah snapped, eyes blazing. She seemed ready to defend his virtue with claws and teeth if needed. Bea shrugged. “I am. Have you? It is my house. I think you should ask before inviting visitors. Maybe I’ll have to talk to the trustees. You’re setting a bad example.” Sarah leaped up, all five foot four of her, indignant in red satin. Mike wanted to shake Bea, but her assumptions weren’t unbelievable. “Bea, mind your mouth and manners.” A crooked smile curled one side of the teenager’s mouth. “I’m kidding. Can’t you take a joke?” She walked out, leaving a cold silence in her wake. Sarah slammed her chair into the table. “How dare she? And I thought this week had smoothed things. We get back and it’s worse than ever.” “I’d better go.” He stood up, half hoping she’d stop him. “Let it roll off,” he said. “She’s a teenager. And, think what it does look like. You’re in that sexy robe and nothing else except your slippers. I’m unshaven and we weren’t exactly at opposite sides of the room.” Her face now matched her robe. He stepped closer. Near enough to smell but not touch, unless she reached out to him. “I’m glad you came. I apologize for Bea. I hope we can work things out.” Work out what? School? The two of them? The mess with Tom? “Sarah.” “Yes?” Would he ever understand the depths behind those eyes? Was she hurt? Hiding

anger? “If you need help, count me as a friend.” She nodded. “Thanks. You’ll make a good friend.” She forced a smile. “And we will make it to June.” Driving home Mike wondered what he’d accomplished. True, he’d put his cards on the table. Sarah accepted everything he’d told her. What good did it do? She’d fight with him for the school and the kids but she hadn’t done or said a thing to offer more than friendship. But she hadn’t denied he’d been there all night.

***** “Don’t say there’s nothing you can do.” “Sorry, Sarah, It’s a done deal. If you’d called last weekend—” Sarah thanked Jim Pryor and hung up. She’d had identical conversations with her cousin Peter, Charles Winslow, half the school board and every member of city council she knew by name. It was just too late. She rested her head in her hands. All day she’d spent on the phone and for the good she’d accomplished she could have spent the day in bed, like Bea. The only good to come out of the day was peace with Mike and his offered friendship. But she wanted more from him than that. She’d been such a fool. She’d had his love and her insensitivity had forfeited it. She’d better be content with what she had left. “I’m going out to get pizza with Debbie.” “Now?” Sarah stared at Bea. “It’s eight o’clock. I won’t be late. I’ve got school tomorrow and I promised I’d reform. No tardies, no skipping boring classes that insult my intelligence and no late nights. But I do need to eat.” She’d spent the day in her room, ignoring food. No wonder she needed sustenance. Weary from a day of fruitless phone calls, Sarah showered and curled up with a new Patricia Cornwell and a glass of Perrier. By nine-thirty she was asleep, taking on faith Bea’s promises to be home early.

***** By lunchtime Monday, Marianne looked ready to resign. The phone started ringing at ten to eight, before she’d taken her jacket off, and never stopped. Mike had a sore ear from parents’ complaints and Sarah was ready to yell at the next child who asked, “Where will we be next year, Ms. McAllister?” She suspected every teacher was in the same shape. A week later, the school board answered the “where” question. Each grade level and their teachers would attend a different elementary school. If Dr. Jendrasic thought that would settle concerns, he was mistaken. Another wave of angry parents heated up the phone lines. Gerri Lee abandoned home visits for a day and took over the phone so Marianne and Mike could get their jobs done. Mrs. Carter acted on Gerri’s advice to “take her concerns to the superintendent” and arrived at his office in full sail. Security had finally called the police to remove her. Sara

and Mike had shared a couple of laughs when they heard. They didn’t share much else.

***** “How about a veggie pizza and a bottle of Black Dog at Innocelli’s on Saturday?” Mike asked Sarah as she readied to leave one afternoon. Sarah’s heart bounced. Her head screamed caution. She listened to her head. “I don’t think so,” she said, ignoring the sting of disappointment in her heart. She couldn’t stand an evening alone with him. “Maybe next year, when we don’t work together.” “Who knows where we’ll be next year?” he asked. “You’ll be in a nice office downtown and I’ll be manning the chalkboards somewhere.” She smiled, determined to keep things light. “I’m not sure if I’m staying. Things haven’t worked out here as I’d hoped.” “Leaving? Leaving Seven Oaks? What about your contract?” “They’ll let me off. I was hired for Lemmon Park School. They can’t keep me here.” And neither can I, she thought, but smiled. She’d learned as a child to hide her wounds. “You’ll find somewhere.” “Yeah.” He paused as if waiting for her. “Thanks for the offer of pizza.” She was two breaths away from accepting. “Maybe before I leave.” His eyes were blue enough to lose herself in. She wanted him to hold her forever. But he spoke of leaving. She should have known all along, she couldn’t hold him. “Maybe.” What a meaningless word that was. He took a step closer. She could smell his aftershave. “I never meant to hurt you, Sarah. If you need me, just call.” She nodded and thanked him or said something suitably polite. It took her just seconds to cross the hall and lock the bathroom door behind her, and several minutes to stem her tears. Sloshing cold water on her face, she berated herself weeping like a fountain. Why did it matter so much? From the start she’d known he wasn’t in Seven Oaks to stay. And why should he? He had nothing to keep him here. Common sense told her to keep her distance and save herself from hurt. Her heart told her nothing would. But she would survive. Besides, she had an appointment with Bea’s French teacher in fifteen minutes. She couldn’t stay here boohooing in the handicapped toilet.

***** “What happened to your promise to stop cutting classes?” Bea rolled her eyes. Sarah saw red when kids at school did that. It wasn’t any better from a blood relative. “Sis, it’s ridiculous. My French is better than Mrs. Hurd’s. She said the other day that the verb ‘baiser’ meant ‘to kiss’. I ask you—you expect me to sit through that?” “I’m surprised you didn’t correct her.”

Bea’s wide grin told her she had. “That’s what she meant by ‘inappropriate interruptions’? Bea’s shoulders rose and fell. Then she flicked her hair. Sarah began to sympathize with Mrs. Hurd, even if she wasn’t up on French slang. “Get real, Bea. You have six more weeks of school. If you’re lucky you’ll make a D in French. Your other grades are less than spectacular. Do you or do you not want to graduate?” The eye roll encored. So did the shrug. “They wouldn’t dare. They’ll pass me. They graduate the dummies who struggle through Health.” Was Bea crazy? Did she really think it didn’t matter? “They’ll send your last grades to William and Mary. They could, conceivably, rescind your place.” Something like a spasm crossed Bea’s face. “How terrible. I’d be stuck here with you, then. You couldn’t have that. Could you?” Cold confusion scrambled for space in Sarah’s mind. She wasn’t having this conversation. “Be sensible,” she said. What a dumb comment. And why? Didn’t Bea want to go? She’d talked of nothing else since last year. Bea seemed to have listened. “You worry too much, Sis. Be glad I’m not running off to South Carolina with my lab partner from chemistry.” She knew how to hit low. “Just remember what that antic earned me.” Bea grinned. “I could handle a year or two in Europe.” “Three years at Our Lady of Walsingham would do you in. You’d love the sexy uniforms and the stiff straw hats that leave a sweat ring in the summer. To say nothing of white gloves.” Sarah would never forget. She didn’t mention the joy of learning and pride in scholarship she enjoyed in a community dedicated to inspiring girls to reach the heights. “I’ll think of that while I go to the library with Debbie.” When the door closed behind Bea, Sarah slumped in the rocking chair, staring out at the lake. If she was inclined to self-pity, she’d be having a field day. The man she’d once thought loved her was leaving town after dismantling her past six years’ work. Her school was closing. She had no idea where she’d work next year. And her sister seemed dedicated to screwing up her senior year. Do something! She decided to ask people over. She’d get Bea to help and they’d invite shared friends. They both needed a distraction. And some peaceful coexistence.

***** Friday night, while Sarah polished the silver, Bea baked pecan pie and slept late Saturday to compensate. Sarah woke early, cut most of the first early roses, leaving them soaking when she ran down to Winn-Dixie. Halfway through unpacking the sixth sack of groceries, Bea appeared in the kitchen, a broad grin on her face and dark circles under red eyes, like a cheerful roue’. Sarah’s mind seemed to skid. What was she thinking? “Need help, Sis?” Bea reached down and handed Sarah a carton of eggs. “Always,” replied Sarah as she put the eggs in the fridge and reached out for a bag of peppers. “Sleep well?” she asked. Bea’s haggard face made a lie of her casual “Yeah.”

“I’ll stay and help this afternoon if you need me.” Bea made good her offer of help. She shaped bread dough, chopped and sliced vegetables and chatted in a manner that took Sarah back to her teens and the times she’d spent with Angel while Bea gurgled in her infant seat on the countertop. Setting out glasses and the fresh bottles of liquor she’d bought yesterday, Sarah stared at the two inches of bourbon through the brown glass. “Bea,” she called back to the kitchen, “what happened to the bourbon?” The crash of large pan hitting tiled floor echoed from the kitchen. “What?” Bea called in reply. “The bourbon.” “Oh, that. I put some in the pecan pie. The recipe says so. I asked you and you said ‘ yes’.” Sarah felt her jaw drop. “That’s half a cup, not the better part of a bottle.” “I spilled a whole lot. I thought I told you.” Sarah hadn’t been a teacher all these years without learning to sniff out lies. And this one stank. She remembered the three glasses and empty bottle she’d found just weeks ago. For the millionth time she wished Angel was here. She’d know what to say. She needed Angel’s down-home common sense. She was alone, she could hardly bother her mother with this and calling Mimi was unthinkable. That would only unleash a torrent of nastiness about her son’s foolishness in marrying an unsuitable woman. Sarah sighed. She had to handle it somehow. After the dinner party tonight. Their guests relaxed, sated with baked eggplant and garlic and salmon stuffed pasta, and looked around at the used plates and scattered bread. Half of them drained their wineglasses and the other half sighed. Sarah smiled at the compliments on her cooking, remembering her mother’s maxim, “feed them wonderful bread, a luscious dessert and enough wine and they’ll never miss the meat”. “If it wouldn’t wound her soul,” said Fred, wiping the last trace of sauce on his plate with a crust, “I’d send your recipe to Nonna.” The ultimate praise. “Mimi’s pecan pie with bourbon,” Bea announced with a side look at Sarah. “Do you have to be over age to eat it?” Fred asked. Bea ignored the question and carefully sliced the pie, giving each slice a generous dollop of ice cream. Sarah didn’t notice the bourbon. She had to talk to Bea tonight. And wondered what good it would do other than to accuse on suspicion. Sarah wanted everyone to go so she could hash things out with Bea. She wanted them to stay all night to avoid the coming confrontation. “Conversation boring you?” Peter asked. “You’re miles away.” Sarah smiled at him. “Just wondering when to put the coffee on,” she said and wondered why she’d invited him. He was probably her least favorite cousin. But he was on city council, and city council appointed the school board. She’d asked him in a vague hope it would help in fighting closure. She should have known better. “Tell us the inside reason for closing Lemmon Park,” said Michael Bryce. He was married to Debbie’s elder sister, president of her child’s PTA and inveterate town

gossip. “It’s a renovation, not a closing,” Sarah pointed out and rose to fix the coffee. Bea was enjoying herself, laughing between Debbie and Zach, Michael’s husband. For Sarah the evening was fast becoming a washout. An hour or so later it degenerated into a fiasco. “What’s this? The Spanish Inquisition?” Bea’s voice rose with her temper. “I asked a simple question. Just give a simple answer. What’s so hard about that?” Did real parents go through this or was it a torment reserved for siblings? “You think I’m stealing stuff in my own house. Don’t forget who owns it.” She wouldn’t rise to that one. “Just say you did or did not drink it. Or if the others drank it with you. Is that so hard?” “Now you accuse my friends of stealing. Why didn’t you start this when Debbie was here? She’d like to know what you think of her.” Sarah prayed for patience. “Just answer my question.” “Would you believe me?” “Why wouldn’t I?” Bea ground carpet with the toe of her cream patent pump. “You never believe me.” First shouting, now whining. Why had she ever started this? “Tell me you didn’t and I’ll believe you. If you did, we need to talk about it.” Bea flung her blonde hair over her shoulders and met Sarah’s eye. “I didn’t drink it, sister mine. Good night,” she said. Sarah watched her climb the spiral stair to bed. And doubted.

***** The athletic club at eight a.m. on a Sunday was as deserted as a school on Labor Day. Sarah came out for that reason alone. After time on the machines, she made for the life cycles. In the empty room, the whirl of machinery acted like a buffer to erase worry and tension. Her mind freewheeled as her legs moved by themselves. She looked up as the door opened, glanced at the man propping his foot on a bench to tie his shoe, and felt cold through her sweat. Only one man in the world had thighs like that. She knew how his firm butt felt under her hands. She tasted his skin as her tongue touched her upper lip. Heaven help her. She’d come here to get away from stress. Before she could think to hunch over the handlebars and study the mottled carpet, he looked up. Surprise, delight, excitement and bold interest shone in his blue eyes. Anticipation creased his cheeks and eyes. Stifling the urge to flee for safety, Sarah stood her ground or rather sat her cycle. He wouldn’t chase her out. Though his smile was enough to make her run for the showers. “How long?” he asked as he adjusted his seat. “Seven minutes so far.” “Twenty more, I’ll treat you to a grapefruit juice.” Her thighs could use another twenty minutes but could the rest of her handle a grapefruit juice? With Mike? They pedaled in silence. Sweat poured off her face and between her breasts. She felt moisture pool behind her knees and something more than

sweat between her legs. She forced herself not the turn his way. The controls on her handlebars became more fascinating than gossip. His timer buzzed. She got off her cycle the side away from his. Her legs weren’t usually this wobbly after biking. He pulled the tab on the can before handing it to her. She took it carefully, avoiding his fingers. “Thanks,” she said and took a deep swig. He nodded. “My pleasure.” He smiled. She told herself he was just being polite. Friendly, right? “It’s good to see you in a neutral situation. How are things?” Nothing about him was neutral. “Fine,” she lied. He led the way to a table in the deserted snack bar. Sarah twisted her chair sideways. No accidental foot contact for her. The empty snack bar seemed to magnify his closeness. His skin still glistened from biking. He smelled of exertion, fresh sweat and… Mike. If she possessed a modicum of sense, she’d run. She obviously didn’t have any sense. “What’s wrong?” His whispered question made her jump. No subtle, social chitchat for Mike Hartman. “Wrong?” He nodded. Pretense collapsed under his hyacinth blue eyes. Self-restraint dissolved and she talked. About Bea. By the time she finished, the snack bar had filled up and the sun had moved around to warm their empty cans. “So you think she’s an alcoholic?” The question slashed through her heart. How could he? “This is my sister we’re talking about, not some wino on the streets.” “You think alcoholics can’t be young and beautiful and intelligent? They can. I know. Andrea was beautiful.” Every cell in her body froze. She squeezed his hand until her knuckles hurt. “You need to get help,” he said. “Me?” “You have to learn to live with Bea’s drinking.” “Wait a minute. I’m sorry about your wife. But don’t jump to conclusions about Bea. There’s a world of difference between a bit of underage drinking and… alcoholism.” It hurt even to say the word. The idea was unthinkable. Implacable eyes met hers. “She drinks too much. In secret. And lies about it. It’s part of the pattern.” “She’s seventeen years old.” “There are eleven- and twelve-year-old alcoholics. It’s a disease with no respect for youth. There just aren’t many old ones. Unless they get sober.” Cold chills snaked through her stomach and spread through every nerve. Only her hands were warm where they touched his. “Get help, Sarah. Even if Bea won’t go to AA, you go to Al-Anon.”

***** Sarah never knew if she’d shampooed and washed or if she just stood under the

shower and got wet. Shock wasn’t the word for what scrambled her mind and her reason. If Mike was right. But he couldn’t be. Not Bea. She’d left him half in anger, half in fear. Driving home, her reason went into overdrive. Every little incident of the past year came to mind—the odd accidents, the scratches and dents in Bea’s car, crooked parking when she came in late, mood swings. But all teenagers were moody, weren’t they? Bleary eyes and foul moods in the mornings that she’d explained away as just Bea’s way. But what about dropping grades and cutting school? By the time she turned up the drive, Sarah wasn’t sure she even wanted to go home. She certainly didn’t want to confront Bea. She couldn’t have handled it worse if she’d tried. “All this fuss because I had a few drinks with my friends,” Bea screeched in reply to Sarah’s carefully worded comment. “You act as if I’ve committed murder.” “No,” Sarah forced her voice to stay even. “But you might if you drive when you’re drinking.” “Smart ass, aren’t you?” “Sit down and listen to me!” It was Sarah’s turn to shriek. Her cheeks burned with anger and distress. She never yelled. What was happening between them? Bea sat, stunned by Sarah’s outburst. Sarah fought to regain calm. She had Bea sitting. She’d better use her chance. Bea frowned at the table as she picked at her fingernails. Sarah noticed they were bitten at the edges. Bea used to spend hours on her nails. “Bea, listen. I’m not getting on you. I’m worried.” So was Bea, if her eyes were anything to go by. “You worry too much,” she said, her voice low. She seemed to strain to get the words out. Sarah put an arm around her shoulders. “I can’t help it. You’re not well, you’re always tired and your grades are going to pot. When you go to college next year—” “That’s such a big deal. Maybe I won’t go after all.” Her voice and face offered a challenge. Sarah resolved not to rise to it. She tightened her hold on her sister’s shoulders. “If you want to postpone going, fine. Either way you need to get your grades up.” “Yeah, right.” Bea looked down, engrossed in a hangnail on her left pinkie. “Try telling that to Mimi. She’ll have a heart attack.” “If it’s agreed between the trustees and me, she can’t do anything about it.” Bea stared at Sarah as if a tree were sprouting out of her head. “You mean that?” “Of course. Is that what you want?” The clock ticked, loud as a giant’s heartbeat in the silence. Bea shook her head. “I don’t know what I want.” She dragged out a strangled, unamused laugh. “Lot of us, aren ’t there?” “Bea. Figure out what you want. I’ll do what I can.” Bea pulled back, her eyes on Sarah. “Sis, why are you always so reasonable?” “Just brilliant, I suppose. Lucky to have me, aren’t you?” She hoped the quip would lighten things. It did.

Bea grinned and stood up to wrap her arms around Sarah. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. And I’ll even give up beer if it makes you happy.” “I knew you were smart. Now, you’ve proved it.” They had four peaceful weeks. Bea came home early, studied in her room and seldom used the phone. At school, it wasn’t so calm. Antonio’s day in court came and went. Convicted of a felony, he was sentenced to a year’s probation and sent for psychiatric evaluation. Sarah found herself wading through a sheaf of forms for the court-appointed psychologist just when she should have been starting year-end testing. The atmosphere at school slid from stunned anger to hopeless apathy. The staff received their new assignments, posted out like evacuees to six different elementary schools. Most of them expected to end up in trailers or rooms split by partitions. Sarah was going to Silver Lake Elementary and keeping her same class. Five minutes drive from home would be a mixed blessing but she worried how her kids would blend with the solidly upper middle-class children of her neighborhood. “What are you doing next year, Mike?” she asked one day on her way out. She’d stopped by the office to use the copier. Mike was burrowing through the supply closet. Even if they razed the school, she’d remember that closet. “I’ll still be searching for number ten envelopes at the rate I’m going.” He stepped out and smiled. She wished he hadn’t. Sleeves rolled up to show the muscles of his forearms and a sheen of sweat on his face, he brought ideas to mind that didn’t belong in an elementary school or between friends. Ideas she’d better suppress if she wanted to finish the year sane. “You haven’t heard?” Keep it businesslike. It was safer. He took a step closer. And stopped. They both needed the distance. “They made me an offer they thought I couldn’t refuse. I think I might. Keep it between us okay?” “You’re definitely leaving?” She felt cold through to her bones. “I have to finish my dissertation. Now’s as good a time as any. I thought coming here would be a nice, easy two years. It’s been tough.” She wouldn’t argue that one. “How are things with Bea?” “Much calmer. We had a nasty argument but the last four weeks have been peaceful. I think it was just one of those things. A couple of her friends lead her astray. Bea’s always been ready to follow.” He smiled. “She’s not like you then.” That irked her. Would he never let up? “No, she’s the pretty one.” He shook his head. “Matter of opinion.” At that, Sarah decided it was time to go home.

***** “You’re breaking a good man’s heart,” Fred told her. Sarah frowned. She’d come out here for a swim after school, seeking much-needed stress relief. Thanks Fred.

She didn’t have to ask which man. “Things are never as simple as they seem.” She looked at her toenails. Anything to avoid Fred’s eyes. He knew her too darn well. “For an intelligent woman, you sure put on the dumb act.” “Fred, really… ” She sounded like a schoolmarm. Hardly surprising. “Don’t ‘Fred, really’ me. He loves you.” Not anymore. And if she dared think about it, she’d find she loved him and that way goes heartbreak and misery. “And you loved me and I loved you. We both got over it.” “A flush of teenage hormones isn’t the same as adult love.” No, it wasn’t. It didn’t bear thinking about. “’Adult love’ sounds like a movie in a motel.” “If you’re going to motels to watch movies, you are in need of a good man.” She elbowed him on her way out. She drove home with a heavy ache somewhere just above her belt. She half envied Mike’s freedom to run away. Then berated herself for the thought. She couldn’t leave. Seven Oaks was her home… and Bea’s. Bea… that was another whole set of worries. Would life never settle down? A note on the table said Bea was studying and please not to disturb. She’d had a pizza and planned an all-nighter to get a history paper done. Sarah couldn’t criticize. She ’d done the same often enough. Sarah left early the next morning, leaving Bea asleep. Seven o’ clock wasn’t Bea’s best time and Sarah had a parent stopping off on her way to work. The meeting went well, she spent the time until school scoring tests and went down to meet the buses. A second grader had thrown up on bus ninety-two. The news spread as children came into school. Sarah thanked God she didn’t drive buses. Marianne looked up from the phone. “I need another phone number,” she said to a pale-faced boy sitting with a trash can between his legs. “Both these are disconnected.” “I’ll tell his teacher,” Sarah said and ducked out of the office. She’d never before been glad she had breakfast duty. “Four weeks of school, Ms. McAllister,” John Rogers said as he walked by with his tray of doughnuts and juice. “Eighteen days,” Sarah replied with a smile. “You’re counting them.” Sarah turned at Mike’s words. “Why not? I’m ready for summer.” He nodded. “Yes. I’m getting ready to pack. Moving is a chore.” So. He really was going. Why not? He’d never intended to stay. What a good thing she’d never lost her heart to him. What a lie. She even couldn’t convince herself. “We don’t often see you in the lunchroom at breakfast.” “I remember you’re pretty good at breakfast.” She hated the way she flushed. “Not here, Mike. For heaven’s sake!” “I don’t have any other chance these days,” he replied. “The offer for Innocelli’s stays open. Perhaps before I go—” “Call me when you’re packed.” Did he have no sense of place? No one made dates

in front of eighty children. Even if they were engrossed in French toast and oblivious to adult conversation. A strange, serious sadness shadowed Mike’s face. Lord, was the man handsome. “If you need me, for anything, just say the word. I never meant to hurt you, Sarah.” For someone not trying he’d done a darn good job. She watched his shoulders as he walked out, stopping at one table to quell a couple of boisterous fourth graders and talking to a trio of little girls as they walked in. One was Prissy and Sarah noticed Mike kept his distance. The man would never forget. “Ms. McAllister?” A hand tugged hers. “I spilled my juice.” Better think of juice spills than might-have-beens with Mike.

***** Mike took two bites out of a rather stiff hamburger and pushed it aside. Mystery meat on a bun wasn’t his favorite and right now his appetite for food wasn’t in the forefront. He wanted to kick himself. He’d sworn, promised and vowed to keep his personal feelings about Sarah out of school and this morning he’d flouted every rule. How could she be so calm and matter-of-fact? Counting the days, was she? Probably longing for him to be gone. What a year. He’d come to recover and thrown himself into an emotional maelstrom. Lord, how he wanted her. Seeing her standing in the lunchroom this morning, he’d had fantasies of pinning her against the juice machine, kissing her until they were breathless and telling her she was his and that was it. A dry chuckle slipped out. Now that would cause talk. Illegal weapons, physical attacks. Pilfering, lunch money extortion and chewing gum would fade into the background. He shook his head, tried to decide if he could face green Jell-O with something pale congealed in it and decided, no. Marianne hung up the phone, scribbled a couple of lines on a blue memo pad and scowled in a way that made Mike glad he wasn’t asking favors. “That girl!” she muttered. “I’d like to give her a whopping she wouldn’t forget. All looks and brains and not an ounce of what you need to live.” “What?” Mike asked, crossing over to Marianne’s desk. With a grunt she handed him the message. Bea was absent from school for the third consecutive day. And Sarah said things were better. Someone was lying, and he’d bet his car, his pension and his IRA it wasn’t Sarah. “I’ll take it to her.” Marianne eyed him. Her dark skin seemed to darken as her eyebrows rose. “Now don’t you start something. I saw you slide into the lunchroom this morning and it wasn’t Billy Price or Prissy who got you out of here. Leave her alone. She’s got more than enough to deal with without you breaking her heart.” Something snapped. Mike towered over Marianne, his hands splayed on the desk. “Let’s get this straight, Mrs. Wolf. I’d rather slit my throat than hurt Sarah. I happen to love her. And talking about broken hearts. She’s not the only one susceptible to that malady.”

Marianne leaned back in her chair. It squeaked in protest at the shift in bulk. “That so.” She nodded and folded her arms on her ample chest. “Ever thought of sharing the news with her?” “Now’s not the time.” He waved the paper in his hand. “She has a lot to deal with right now.” “Make time, man! If you wait for Mizz Bea to get sense you’ll be retired.”

Chapter Fourteen Mike wished there were six flights down to Sarah’s room not one. He needed time to consider. He did love her. But did she love him? She’d seemed so willing to settle for his reluctantly offered friendship. He needed her and she needed him, even if she didn’t know it yet. Sooner or later she’d go to hell and back with Bea. He’d force her to listen. He’d stay another year in a boring admin job if he had a chance with her. Anything. “Think, Timmie, think. You have six quarters and Antonio has four dollars. Who has the most? Count up.” He didn’t need to look to know she was bending toward Timmie, smiling encouragement with her shoulders hunched just so. She looked up as he came in and smiled. The paper in his hand would wipe away the smile. “Got a minute?” Timmie looked up from counting plastic coins. Antonio ginned. Prissy, across the room, called, “Hi, Mr. Hartman.” She’d assumed a proprietary air toward him ever since she’d tried to take a hunk off his leg. Sarah’s eyes flickered. “Yes,” she said. It could have been an answer or a question. “You have a phone message.” “Now?” Her eyes scanned the room, implying she had more important things than the telephone. “It won’t take a minute.” With a nod to her aide, Sarah followed him out. As she shut the door, he handed her the message. She read the first line and looked up. She had the patient, reassuring smile she kept for reluctant learners. “You worry too much. She overslept. She was up all night working on a project. I’ll call Pixie at lunch and explain.” He hated what he was doing. “Read the rest of it.” She wore a blue blouse, the color of a peacock’s tail. The collar framed her neck and brushed her cheek as she read. She looked so fragile but he knew she wasn’t. Just as well. She’d need to be tougher than steel to survive the heartache Bea had in store for her. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, and whisper to her auburn hair that he was here to help her cope. He’d gone through hell and survived. With her present feelings toward him, she’d file for sexual harassment. “They made a mistake in the office. She hasn’t been out three days. Some volunteer got the names mixed up.” “I think you should call, after what we talked about—” She shook her head. And smiled. “Mike, you worry too much. I talked to Bea about that. She had been drinking with friends but she promised to stop. I pointed out the dangers. She understood.” “She promised.” Mike said it half to himself. How many times had Andrea “promised”? His skepticism rubbed her wrong. “Yes, she did! Look. I’m sorry about your wife

but don’t go transferring your problems to the rest of the world. Just because… ” She stopped, anguish in her eyes. “Mike, I didn’t mean to sound so horrible.” She shook her head. “Forget it, Sarah. Just call. Do it to ease my worry, if nothing else.” “Pixie, there has to be a mistake! She went to school.” “She might have left for school but she never got here. Not since last week. She’s been out twelve days this grading period. By rights we should schedule a conference with the hall dean.” Sarah fought to still the whirling in her head. The plummeting in her stomach she gave up on. “Let me check and get back with you. Okay?” As she hung up, Sarah avoided Mike’s eyes. Without a word she dialed home and went into voice mail after five rings. This time she couldn’t avoid Mike. “She must be on her way to school. There’s no reply.” It sounded futile even to her. Something was wrong, “Go home and check.” He whispered it but it felt like a blow to the kidneys. “I have a classroom of kids downstairs.” “Your aide can handle them for an hour or so. Go. Do it for my peace of mind.” Concern etched his face with creases. It just had to be a silly mistake. But… Pixie wasn’t a worrywart. “I’ll run home. Let me tell Mary.” She paused at the door. Mike held it for her. A movement of her wrist and she’d have her hand on the smooth cotton of his shirt front. She stepped back. “Take the time you need.” He paused. “Sarah, I hope to heaven I’m wrong.” Of course he was. She smiled. “I’ll stop on the way back and get doughnuts for the faculty meeting.” By the time she got home, Sarah had almost convinced herself Bea had skipped homeroom and just hadn’t signed in tardy. Then she took the turn at the head of the drive. Bea’s car sat in the drive like a silent witness. Fear as sharp as frozen hope sliced through Sarah’s heart. “Bea! Bea!” Sarah rushed into the living room. Her words echoed in the silent house. She took the spiral stairs at a run. And stopped at the top, telling herself Bea had ridden with Mary Beth or Debbie. Even now they stood preening in the girl’s room or whispering in the library. Sarah pushed open Bea’s door as if she expected a booby trap. Had Mike known it was like this? Yes. He’d tried to warn her. Bea lay asleep, if that was the word. The room horrified Sarah. Bea had done this in three days? An army of Turks couldn’t have done more. Bea mumbled but didn’t rouse when Sarah shook her. Sarah left her on the bed. Drawing back the curtains to let in the light made it worse. But it helped her find the phone under a heap of papers and behind three empty liquor bottles. A fourth was tucked under the covers. Bea’s hand circled it the way she’d held her pink bunny as a child. Her hair fanned out on the flowered pillowcase. Puffy eyelids seemed weighted by her long lashes. Her was skin pale and her mouth hung half open—she looked

vulnerable, young, fragile and sloshed. Waves of guilt came fast as nausea. Sarah shuddered. Why hadn’t she listened to Mike? She should have known. She had enough clues. Bea groaned. Sarah picked up the phone. “Marianne, give Mike a message, will you?” “He’s here.” She didn’t want to talk to him. Why couldn’t Marianne have just listened? “Sarah?” A thousand questions nestled in her name. She couldn’t come up with a single answer. “Sarah?” he repeated in the silence. “Tell me.” Even the inside of her throat seemed to be sweating. She had to reply. “Mike, she’s here.” “Is she… ?” “You were right.” She stopped. Another word and she’d be howling down the phone. “You want some time? Your aide can cover your class for the rest of the day.” A good thing, too, she’d never be able to go back and practice number facts after this. “Thanks.” “Remember, yelling, begging, shouting and tears will only serve to raise your blood pressure. They don’t help. I know.” Bea groaned and opened her eyes. Confusion, realization and shock crossed her face as she saw Sarah sitting in the rocking chair. She shook her head like a wet puppy and muttered, “Fuck.” “You haven’t done anything for the past few days. You’ve been busy.” Sarah gestured to the collection of dead men on the desk. “Had a great time spying and poking? Happy?” “No.” Bea sat up, her eyes puffy and red, her skin gray and her hair a tangled mess. Daylight didn’t improve her looks. Nothing affected her attitude. She leaned back against the crumpled pillow, folded her arms on her chest and looked Sarah square in the eye. “Fire ahead. Lecture ready. Going to tell me how ashamed, disappointed and let down you are? How upset Mimi will be?” “No,” Sarah said and waited. “What?” One syllable could hold a lot of belligerence. “I love you, Bea. I’m worried about you. You’ll kill yourself if you keep on drinking.” “Yeah, right. Wouldn’t that upset everyone? Mimi could have the funeral at the club. My going-under party.” Sarah didn’t know whether to cry or scream. Mike’s words repeated like a mantra in her heart. “Forget Mimi and think about yourself.” She stood up. “Take a shower and then we’ll talk. I’m serious, Bea.” She went downstairs, half shaking. Bea had always laughed off Mimi’s jibes. Each one must have hurt like acid. Why was she surprised? She used to plan secret revenges for Mimi’s caustic comments. Sarah put on the kettle, in silent tribute to her mother’s

belief in a cup of tea as a universal panacea and waited. She wanted the time to organize her arguments but her mind blanked. All she wanted to do was cry. Or scream. But Mike ’s caution held her steady. She waited. The tea was cold and fit only for furniture refinishing by the time Bea appeared. “Got the lecture ready?” she asked. “No lecture. I’ve said all I want to. It’s your turn.” The eternal shrug. Bea had perfected the art. She sat down, her cheeks pink from the shower and her hair loose down her back but weariness seemed to seep out of her. And her eyes clouded like dusty windows. “I suppose I’ve let you down. I was your golden girl. The whiz who got in early admission. The total screw-up with a pretty face. The no-good merit scholar who couldn’t make it. The—” “Bea.” Sarah couldn’t stand it. “What’s the matter?” “Matter, Sis?” Bea echoed. Her dull eyes met Sarah’s. “I’m a drunkard, an alcoholic, a lush, a tippler, an inebriate.” She slurred the last word and slumped down to rest her head on the table. Sarah battered back her tears. Not now. Later, she’d cry her heart out. “You’ve been drinking since you got up? Why? What?” “I had a bottle in my room. How else could I face you? I’m going to fail History and French. Maybe everything. I won’t graduate. I’ve screwed up. Everything. Don’t you understand?” What Sarah didn’t understand was how Bea could drink a fifth of liquor and still walk, much less talk. She walked over and wrapped her arms around Bea’s huddled shoulders. “Damn the whole town and forget Mimi. Blow graduation and college. They don’t matter. You’re my sister. That’s the only thing that can’t be changed.” A tear rolled down the side of her nose and tasted salt as it hit her mouth. Another followed. She couldn’t have stopped them if she’d tried. Bea’s breathing came rough and uneven. Sarah slid a hand down her wrist. A weak pulse flicked under Sarah’s fingers. “Bea,” she whispered. Bea grunted. Panic whirled through Sarah. She dragged Bea to the front door, willing her not to fall. She’d never get her up if she did. At the front door she propped her against the grandfather clock. As it wobbled the chimes sounded in a strange mix of clangs and bells. By strength of will, prayer and gravity, Sarah bundled Bea into the passenger seat. Fixing the seat belt was a challenge. Bea kept slumping like a rag doll. As Sarah ran back to shut the front door, she heard the phone. Mimi probably. She could wait. She parked catty-corner to the emergency room entrance in a spot marked “Ambulances Only”. Bea by now didn’t even open her eyes when Sarah shook her. She’d never get her out on her own. A young black orderly stood by the door. “You can’t park—” he began. Sarah didn’t stop to listen. “My sister’s here. She’s sick and I can’t lift her.” That last sentence she almost wailed. But she got attention. “Sarah.” She turned at her name. “Fred. Thank God.” If the staff of Seven Oaks

hospital thought it odd for the head emergency room physician to hug women who walked through the main entrance, they never showed it. “What happened? A car accident?” “Bea. She’s drunk. No, more than drunk. I don’t know another word.” “How much?” “A fifth and more earlier.” He pushed her from him. “We’ll take care of this.” In seconds he had two men at the car. Bea disappeared behind swing doors to shouts of “alcohol o/d”, “gastric lavage”. Sarah must have moved her car. She probably gave insurance details to the clerk. Reality receded as she sank into a miasma of misery and guilt. What had she done to cause this? She sat in the waiting room while a Happy Days rerun flickered in silence, the magazines dog-eared themselves, and guilt wrapped around her like a shroud. The seat beside her sagged. “Sarah,” Fred said, “she’ll be all right… for now.” “What do you mean?” “She can’t make a habit of this. It’ll kill her.” Goose bumps rubbed under her skin. Thinking was difficult. Speaking impossible. Words jammed somewhere in her mind. “How long has it been going on and why didn’t you tell someone? She can get help… if she wants it. You certainly need it.” Sarah’s mind slowly unlocked. “I only really found out this afternoon, for certain. I knew something was wrong. But this… ” She shook her head. “How could I not see?” “Alcoholics are good liars.” That word again. She shivered. “Fred.” He squeezed her hand. “Come back and see her. I’ve been talking to her.” Bea lay flat on a gurney, her face sallow in the harsh light. A white tube ran from her nose to a jar on the floor. Drops of murky liquid moved like cockroaches down the tube. Sarah shivered. Fred’s hand on her shoulder kept her upright. “Sorry, Sis,” Bea muttered, her speech garbled by the tube blocking her nose. Sarah leaned over the gurney. “Bea, you’re okay. That’s all that matters.” “Not quite. Bea and I had a talk while we washed out her stomach. She’s got a couple of decisions to make.” “Now, Fred? Can’t it wait?” “No. Trust me, Sarah.” How could she not? He looked at Bea, an eyebrow raised. “What is it to be? Sarah needs to know. Going to keep on drinking and kill yourself, or not?” “Fred!” Sarah stepped between them as if to protect Bea from his callousness. How could he? Bea was flat on her back. “She has to decide. You and I can’t. I told her if she wants to continue, don’t expect me to do repeat performances. I can’t stand it.” Sarah wondered why she’d ever considered him a friend. Much less loved him. “Trust me,” he repeated. Bea propped herself up, wincing as the tube pinched. “You win,” she said. He shook his head. “You’re the one who wins or loses.” Bea sighed. She sounded as if she carried ten lives on her head. “I’ll go. I’ll do what they tell me. Just don’t tell Mimi.”

“There’s a drug and alcohol dependency center near Roanoke. I want Bea to go there,” Fred explained as Sarah shivered. “She’s agreed. You go home and pack clothes for a couple of weeks. I’ll keep her here and watch her for another half-hour. You come back and get her.” “Right now? Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” He shook his head. A weak and drowsy Bea flopped in the passenger seat when Sarah returned with a hastily packed suitcase. A nurse handed her a sheaf of papers. Another gave her written directions to find Willow Grove. “I won’t call your grandmother after promising Bea. You’ll have to tell her somehow. Should I call anyone?” Fred asked as she climbed into the car. Sarah hesitated. She’d promised to call Mike back. “Give Mike a call, please.” Fred smiled. “Will do. Glad you’re seeing sense. He’s a good man.” Sarah opened her mouth to put him straight and closed it. Standing in front of the emergency room entrance with Bea half-collapsed in the passenger seat was not the time to explain her relationship with Mike. If she could.

***** The May dawn streaked the sky as Sarah drove back to Seven Oaks. This night ranked right up there with the evening her mother left and the day an unknown doctor called from Blacksburg to say a brown Jaguar had skidded off the Mountain Lake road in the rain and would she please come down, immediately. Before, she’d cried and drawn comfort on Mimi’s shoulder. This time, no. She wanted to crawl into some pit or cavern and beat her head into the ground, and find out where she went wrong. Why hadn’t she seen? Mike had and she’d turned on him. If she’ d only listened then. Maybe she’d have changed things and spared Bea the horror of that tube down her nose and the sloshing suction of the pump as it washed the alcohol from her stomach. Bea! Sarah shook, remembering the ashen face and stooped shoulders she’d left at the ward door. Three days they’d told her. Return in three days. Sarah wandered how she’d make it. Then berated herself for self-pity. She had the easy task, Bea faced hell. Leaving the interstate for the state road into Seven Oaks, Sarah glanced at the dashboard clock, 4:00 a.m. In three hours she’d have to get up for school. It hardly seemed worth going to bed. Twenty minutes later, she turned at the top of her drive and saw a red Karmann Ghia parked beside the magnolia. Mike had spent most of the night on Sarah’s front porch. The cicadas had long since stopped. He expected the dawn chorus any time soon. He’d dozed in her swing until the early morning cold made sleep impossible. So much for warm Southern nights. By two-thirty he needed a parka. Twin beams of light bounced around the drive curves. Three, four times the lights bobbed and turned, bathing the trees with white flashes. Then the lights came through the shrubs at the top of the drive and shone over the gravel. In the quiet he heard the

slowing whine of the turbo before she killed the ignition. She stayed in the car for a good two minutes. Mike watched. For the first time in nearly ten hours, he wondered if he’d done the right thing. When Fred called, he never hesitated, remembering the maelstrom of guilt that suffocated him the two times he’d taken Andrea into treatment. He’d assumed Sarah would need someone as much as he had. Now he doubted. She probably had an army of cousins on their way to comfort her. He would be as needed as suntan oil in a blizzard. Sarah came out of the car, brushing the honeysuckle as she passed. The scent preceded her as she walked slowly toward the house. Mike took a step forward and hesitated. An unexpected man on the porch might alarm her. She’d had more than enough trauma for one night. “It’s me, Mike,” he called. She stopped mid-stride. “I know.” Fifteen feet between them and it could have been a ten-mile wide crevasse. She made no other move toward him. Just stood in the pool of light, her keys in hand, watching him, the house, the geraniums on the porch and the still-moving swing. “Fred called me after you left for Roanoke.” Another step. Another pause. “I asked him to. To tell you why I didn’t come back to school. I never meant you to wait here.” Did she mean she wished he hadn’t? Had he imposed? He hadn’t stopped to think. He’d just raced over. Knowing… no, assuming, the same doubts haunted her. He didn’t move. How could he? Coming toward her, he might crowd. And he had nowhere to retreat except her front door. Another couple of steps. Another hesitation. Was she scared, angry, uncertain? Closer she came. Close enough to see her features in the light. He’d seen her laughing, surprised, angry, impassioned but never twisted with pain and anguish. She’d fallen into hell but he could help her out. If she’d let him. “Have you been waiting long?” “Since Fred called.” Her eyes opened wide in shock. “All night?” She crossed the remaining space between them at a run. “You must be frozen. Come in. I’ll make some coffee.” But she didn’t touch him. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and tell her he’d stay with her through the weeks ahead, but waited for her first move. She stood and watched him, her eyes bright with strain and worry. Her brow creased as she bit her lower lip. “You’ve had a long night,” she said. “Nowhere near as long as yours.” Her breath came fast. “Fred told you?” He nodded. “I should have listened. You told me and I refused to believe. I saw enough. I was just blind. How could I… ” She held out a hand as cold as February. Taking the key, he let her in the door. “Let me put the kettle on. It’s not worth going to bed. Tea or coffee?” His hand on her arm stopped her. “You’re not coming in this morning. You won’t make it.” She opened her mouth to protest but stopped as he touched her shoulder. “You’re in shock. You’ll crash in a while if you go on. Believe me.” She nodded. “Get a shower. The warmth helps the shock. I’ll fix you a warm drink. Then you need to sleep.”

Tears glistened in her eyes, her shoulders shook as she leaned into him. Warm and soft, and shaking, she molded into him as she used to. One hand stroked her hair as he held her to him. The other held her waist. Her tears dampened his shirt and her arms squeezed him closer. Her sobs eased. She pulled back a little but stayed in the circle of his arms. “You shouldn’t have waited all night. But I’m so glad you did. I don’t know what I’m going to do.” “What I told you. Take a shower and sleep off the worst of the shock. If you come into work tomorrow, I’ll write you up for insubordination.” A glimmer of a smile moved in the corner of her mouth. “You would, too.” “I won’t need to. You know your limits.” With the back of his hand, he stroked her cheek. Memories woke and warmed in the recesses of his soul. The touch of warm, smooth skin brought back a flood of memories. He could only hope. She’d welcomed him and wanted him. He’d stay a while. Her footsteps echoed up the stairs. Mike listened as doors opened and closed, something dropped to the floor and then the shower started. He hadn’t exactly been invited and here he was boiling a kettle while she stood naked overhead. He’d crossed the first hurdle, the others he’d take as they came. He gave her ten minutes after he heard the shower stop. Her door stood ajar. “Decent?” he called. “Mimi would say no. But I’m covered.” She was. With an oversized T-shirt and the covers up to her waist. He handed her the mug. She looked and sniffed at the steaming contents. “Medicine,” he said before she could ask. “Fred would prescribe it if he were here. Honey, warm water and bourbon, but I used Southern Comfort, couldn’t find bourbon.” “Don’t let’s go into that,” she said and sipped. “Good, but strong. Exactly how much Southern Comfort did you use?” “Enough.” The mattress sagged as he perched beside her. He rested her hand on his thigh and willed her to leave it there as she drank. “We ought to talk,” she said between sips. “Later,” he promised as he took the empty mug from her trembling hands. He slid under the covers and held her close, reveling in the softness and the smell of her. Every nerve in his body longed for her, his very soul ached to have her. Would he ever have the chance again? Was he doomed to friendship and nothing else? When her breathing changed, he left, wondering if he’d be welcomed back. Driving home, too tired to appreciate the dawn chorus, Mike played two images through his mind—Sarah, melting in his arms in her grief and Sarah, riled when she woke, realizing he’d seized his chance. How would she feel in the morning? He’d just have to find out. She needed him and he’d support her though the next few weeks. But if she wanted more, she had to make the next move.

***** The doorbell echoing in the quiet house jolted Sarah’s heart. A rough day and night and now she had to face Mike. It couldn’t be worse than Mimi. Screwing up her courage, she’d faced the old woman in her sunroom, sipping the

Earl Gray tea Sarah insisted on making. Mimi blinked twice at Sarah’s much rehearsed words and took a slow, deliberate sip from the flowered, bone china cup. “Richard and I had a gardener who drank. Long before you were born.” The cup clinked as she replaced it in the saucer and set it on the table. She took a nibble from a cucumber sandwich. “I suppose it comes from her mother’s family.” Ice shards shifted in Sarah’s mind. “That hardly matters, Mimi. She’s going to get better, that’s all I care about.” “We’ll see.” The paper-thin cup neared the narrow lips again. “Oh, while you’re here. Peter is coming to dinner Saturday. He’s bringing his campaign manager. I’d like you to be there. Seven-thirty.” “I’ll be in Roanoke with Bea. I’ll have to skip.” She still couldn’t believe she’d said “no” to her grandmother and would never forget the shock in the old eyes. The image didn’t help her face Mike. She’d pulled herself together after the encounter with Mimi. It seemed she’d spent the whole day reaching for control and chasing calm. Mike was coming. She would greet him calmly and thank him graciously for his support. That resolution lasted until she opened the door. She shook down to her toenails. How could she remain composed when a hunk like this stood on her doorstep? Could she even survive? After the past twenty-four hours, she doubted. Beautiful, gorgeous, there weren’t words to describe him. Standing there on her doormat, he smiled and that was only the beginning. She could handle a smile that curled her toes, blond hair in unruly waves over his high forehead, or shoulders broad enough to block the sun but his blue eyes undid her. Warm as a velvet robe and clear as truth, she wanted to lose herself in them. “Hi,” he said. “Feeling better?” The smell of warm pizza and aftershave hung around him like an aura. Her knees wobbled as he smiled. “Going to ask me in before the pizza gets cold?” The pizza might get cold. She didn’t think she ever would. He insisted they eat then talk. “I bet you haven’t eaten all day,” he said. “A couple of cucumber sandwiches with Mimi.” “Call that food? You talked about Bea? How did she take it?” She told him. His arm smoothed around her shoulders like a protective shield. His lips brushed her forehead, warm and smooth as satin. She wanted more, much more. She wanted to be kissed to oblivion. “Let’s eat,” he said, setting the pizza and a bottle of Black Dog on the table. “Wait,” she said, as he reached in the drawer for a corkscrew. “Should we be drinking?” The mug of Southern Comfort nightcap weighed heavy on her conscience. “Why not?” He placed the opened bottle between them. “Bea’s the alcoholic. Not you. Not me. Don’t get superstitious and think your restraint equates hers. She’ll stay sober or not according to her choice. Not yours.” How could she argue with experience? She was just beginning to taste the pain he’d swallowed whole. He sat down opposite her across the glass-topped table. “I got veggie pizza and

Black Dog for old time’s sake. Remember our first date?” Would she ever! “Was it really a date?” “Most definitely.” They sat late on the deck, watching the lightening bugs in the twilight and the moon rise over the lake. And Mike talked. About Andrea. And Joshua. As if opening his past to her cleansed and exorcised. Was he telling her he’d faced hell and survived and she would, too? He listened in turn, nodding and barely speaking as she spilled her fears and guilt. Her wish to rewrite the last few months, to change the past and firm the future in concrete. Even though she knew she couldn’t. He left near midnight. She insisted on walking him the fifteen feet to his car. “Scared I’ll be mugged in this neighborhood?” he said. She smiled and shook her head. How could she tell him she wanted every minute she could of his reassurance. She touched his arm. Muscle under warm flesh. Blond hair against tanned skin. And male scent. “Sarah?” he said. She looked up into the blue eyes that could drown her. “I’m your friend, never forget it. Need me, just call.” She nodded. He dropped a kiss on her cheek. She wanted to scream. Cousin Peter kissed her with more warmth than that! “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. She felt she’d been abandoned on the moon. Until he called twenty minutes later and told her to go to bed. She had a class to face in the morning.

***** The next three weeks were rough. Without Mike they’d have been slow, burning torture. Or were they anyway? By Saturday lunchtime, Mimi had called the last, most distant cousin to spread the news that Charles’ second marriage had finally produced the disastrous fruit she’d predicted. Sarah wished she’d throttled her Thursday and saved her the trouble. Sunday, Mike drove her to Roanoke. After lunch at the hotel, he took her to Willow Grove, remaining in the car to read a Mack Bolan while she saw Bea. “Go alone,” he said after she asked him to come with her. “She’ll be ashamed to face you. She couldn’t handle me.” He’d been right. Bea looked like a debauched forty-year-old, her skin gray and loose, her cheeks sunken and her eyes red-rimmed and empty. When Sarah hugged her, she felt like loose bones in a skin bag. Bea said little, sunk in her own misery, but as Sarah went to leave, she grabbed her with the strength of desperation. “You’re coming back?” she asked. “Tomorrow.” By the second week, Mike came in with her. After a raised eyebrow from Bea, his presence raised little comment. On a later visit, Bea said, “So you’re dating Sarah

again?” Sarah held her breath. Dating? Four trips a week to a rehab center? What did he call it? He barely paused. “Sarah needs a friend. I’ve traveled the same road.” Bea shook her head. “You’re more than that. Stay around. When you broke up, she bayed around the house like a lovesick peacock.” His blond eyebrows rose. “A peacock? Sounds as though you’re ornithologically challenged. Peahen, perhaps?” Bea laughed. Sarah’s irritation at her words evaporated. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard Bea laugh. They both needed Mike.

***** He took her to her first Al-Anon meeting, sitting beside her as she listened in stunned silence to discover she wasn’t alone. He insisted she take a couple of hours and sort out Bea’s affairs at the high school. She’d blown the semester so she couldn’t graduate. It seemed to be a family trait. He argued with her when she poured all the liquor and wine in the house down the drain. “It won’t stop her drinking if she wants to.” “I know. But if she wants to she’ll have to get it herself. I won’t be responsible.” He helped her tidy Bea’s room, steadying her shaking arm when she found no less than five fake IDs. “Have Bea destroy them,” he said as she went to toss them away. “It’s another choice she has to make.” He was everything a friend could be. And it didn’t satisfy her. “Decided about next year?” he asked one day as they ate dinner in Roanoke after leaving Bea. Now it came. She took a deep breath. “I talked to personnel last week about taking a year’s leave.” She paused. Now was his chance to say something. “Anywhere special in mind?” “Bea may want to get away from things. We could go down to my house at the beach. I’d have no trouble getting a job. Not in my field. Bea could find babysitting or waitressing until she’s up to school. Or we could spend some time with my mother. We have all year and she only has one semester to make up.” “Give me your address when you decide.” He reached for the butter and deliberately spread it on a corner of a roll, his eyes following his knife’s movements. “Let’s keep in touch, I’ll send you a postcard from time to time,” he said. A postcard wouldn’t satisfy her needs. “I haven’t decided.” She hesitated. “I have until July 1 to let them know. They’ve been very understanding. What about you? Taking the job downtown?” “No.” The word seemed to echo in her head. “I’m not. I don’t want to be Tom’s lackey anymore. I’m taking a year off to finish my dissertation. I haven’t done much on it this year.”

***** Sleep didn’t come easily these days. Tonight it eluded her and she couldn’t blame Bea. Sarah had had more than enough of Mike Hartman’s “friendship”. The thought shocked her to the core. What would she have done without him the past couple of weeks? Hot tears stung her cheeks. She stared up at the ceiling fan. And decided that she, too, was revolving in endless, aimless circles. He’d offered her love. She’d spurned it because of her obsession with her own ideas and all she had left was friendship. A poor substitute for the real thing. She sniffed and reached for a tissue when the phone rang.

“Did I wake you, darling?”

Mother! How had she known?

“You didn’t wake me. I can’t sleep.”

“I knew it! What is it, darling?”

Sarah told her. By the time she finished, the birds had started and sunlight streamed

through the window. “What are you going to do about it?” Mother wasn’t talking about Bea. “What can I do? He wants to be a good friend. And he is.” “Fiddlesticks! I never heard such nonsense.” “Mother, he’s made his position clear.” “Do I have to spell it out for you? You love this man, right? He was besotted with you in November. You moped for him all Christmas. And sang about him all Spring.” “A lot’s happened since then.” “Sarah, men don’t go from horny to handshake in a couple of months. You hurt him. He won’t risk again. You have to.” “What if he doesn’t love me anymore? What if all he wants is friendship?” “How will you ever find out? And what do you have to lose?”

***** “Come for dinner tomorrow. I’ll cook,” Sarah said as they drove back Thursday evening. “Omelet or humus?” Mike asked. They’d become her staples for a quick supper the past couple of weeks. “I’ll manage better than that,” she promised. She’d gone all-out. Curried vegetables and dahl waited in the oven. Rice steamed on the stove. She’d lit joss sticks in the living room and laid the coffee table for dinner with appetizers and poppadums, and strewn pillows over the floor. A bottle of sweet champagne chilled in the refrigerator to go with the two slices of triple chocolate cake from Catfish. “Chocolate seduction, that’s what they call it,” Catfish said when she picked it up on her way home. She hoped he was right. “This is it,” she told herself as she showered. “Bea comes home tomorrow. Tonight

is my last chance.” Doubt gnawed somewhere deep inside. What if he refused? Suppose he scorned her approach and left her with a kiss and nothing more? She’d tried. As Mother said, “What did she have to lose?” He was early. She was still toweling her hair dry. No, she was running late. She pulled on the loose pants and top she’d decided to wear. They were deep purple. Maybe the color would help her quest. The cold slate of the foyer floor reminded her she’d forgotten her sandals. She’d also forgotten a bra. Too late to go back. The loose top would hide things. “I’m running late, I’m afraid,” she said as she opened the door. Her wet hair needed some explanation. He grinned. “Should I go away and come back later?” He took a step backwards. She grasped his hand. “Come in. You’ve seen more than wet hair.” “Yes.” The syllable hung in the air between them, like a lead weight. Three letters packed a whole punch of meaning. He sniffed at the air. “Smells good,” he said. “I’m hungry.” So was she. It had nothing to do with food. She’d forgo eating for life in exchange for him. “What’s this? Delights of the Orient?” he asked, staring at the embroidered cloth on the low table and the trays of condiments. “Jes Southern hospitality,” she replied with an exaggerated twang in her voice. “And how far does the hospitality of the South go?” he asked, his eyes darkening as she watched. Her throat went dry. This was what she wanted. She wouldn’t wimp out. “Hon-ee, it goes jes as far as yew want,” she drawled. She’d play it any way that worked. “Now why don’ yew make yourself com-for-table and I’ll jes fetch a lil’ something for yew to re-fresh yourself.” This fake Tennessee Williams heroine accent was hard work. As she gestured toward the pillow, Mike grabbed her wrist. He wasn’t gentle. Staring into his eyes, she saw heat and male passion. Sweat beaded his upper lip. Cords of sinew stood out under the tanned skin of his neck. “Don’t start what you won’t finish, Sarah.” The words came sharp as staccato notes. “I won’t play your games.” She froze, and sweated, in all of five seconds. Her heartbeat echoed inside her head. Couldn’t he hear it? His eyes seemed to bore into her. He looked ready to self-combust. That made two of them. “This isn’t a game, Mike. It’s for real.” “Oh?” He was master of the monosyllable. His grip relaxed a little. She twisted her wrist free. Breath catching in snags, she ignored the cold bumps popping up and down her spine and decided two could play ‘stare you out’. “Mike, you’ve been a good friend to me. I don’t know what I’d have done without your support. I’ll never forget. Neither will Bea.” She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, hoping he’d say something, move, nod or even grab her wrist again. He waited. He did move one eyebrow about a sixteenth of an inch. She took it as encouragement. She put a cautious hand on his arm and stepped closer. She wanted to bury her face in his chest and block out everything but him. He didn’t move.

“Friendship isn’t enough,” she said. “What do you mean?” He wasn’t going to give an inch. Fine, she’d go the mile. She’d thrown pride to the four winds. Why not be a brazen hussy? “I want you to make love to me.” She couldn’t believe the words came out of her mouth. But they had. And his face proved it. For a split second, the fire in his eyes registered in her brain, then his mouth crushed hers, blocking out sight and hearing as she tasted passion. His hands traced a fevered pattern through her damp hair as he pulled her face to his. Dizzy and gasping, she sucked in deep breaths when he released her mouth. His arms still held her. He pressed himself into the softness of her belly. His need matched hers. “So you want a long night of torrid sex,” he said, his voice hoarse and rough. How could she feel so calm facing the raw, almost violent need in his body and the passion in his eyes? Because it was right. He was hers. “I’d like that,” she said. “But I’d prefer a lifetime if you could manage it.” A rumble deep in his belly vibrated against her waist. A wild laugh burst from him. A peal of joy that filled the high-ceilinged room. “Kissing you and laughing go hand in hand. But we didn’t have pillows in the supply cupboard.” They didn’t need them here, either. “Tell me,” he asked somewhere between the tenth and the fortieth kiss. “Do you want to eat first, or later?” Food could wait forever. “A new box,” he said, as he took the condom packet from her nightstand drawer. “Good. I refuse to share condoms now we’re engaged.” She sat up. “What?” “At Thanksgiving you had an opened box. I’ve spent weeks wondering who opened it.” “You were jealous?” She fought the temptation to gloat. He was serious. “Why not? I won’t share you. Not with anyone.” She threaded her fingers through the warm blond pelt on his chest. “Maybe in the interest of honesty, I should tell you who used it. It might happen again though.” His tense chest and swift intake of breath told her to stop teasing. “I did. I gave a shower for a friend and we blew them up to decorate the living room.” His chest relaxed as his mouth twitched. “Next time you give a shower, I’ll buy you a bag of balloons. They come in brighter colors.” “So do condoms.” “I’ll get some of those, too.” They ate very late. The Bombay potatoes were a bit dry but neither of them noticed. They took dessert back to bed. Catfish’s chocolate cake was aptly named. “We’ve a lot to plan for next year,” Mike said, his hand warm on her breast. “And we have to include Bea.”

“That scares me, Mike. What will happen?” He knew the answer. She just wanted to hear it from him. Again. “Whatever she chooses. Just take it one day at a time. You can’t do more.” Shutting her eyes, Sarah rested her head against the wall of muscle of his chest. His heartbeat sounded like hope. “You’re wonderful, Mike,” she whispered. He tweaked her nipple before answering. “Yeah, I know. You told me.” She pushed up on one elbow. “Big head.” “Where are you thinking of going?” Nowhere. He held her like a velvet vise. He rolled her on her back. A hand on her shoulder pinned her to the pillow. His breath came ragged as he gazed down at her. In his face she saw heat, desire and love. The fine sheen of sweat on his chest tasted salty to the tip of her tongue. She nipped his nipple and thrilled as he groaned. He was offering her power over him and she would give him everything. “I love you,” she whispered as her hands trailed past his navel. He settled himself between her thighs. “That’s why I’m here,” he replied.

About the author

USA Today bestselling author Rosemary Laurey is an ex-pat Brit, retired special education teacher and grandmother. She now lives in Ohio and is having a wonderful time writing and letting her imagination run riot. Her leisure time interests are vacuuming, dusing and cleaning bathrooms, but regrettably the demands of her writing career leave her little time to engage in these pursuits. Rosemary welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at 1056 Home Avenue, Akron, OH 44310-3502.

Also by Rosemary Laurey

If you are interested in a spicier read, check out her erotic romance at Ellora’s Cave Publishing (www.ellorascave.com). Winter Warriors anthology

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