spread her ashes this afternoon,” Jamie said quickly. “After Harley’s back from school and you’re home from the Thrift Shop. We’ll have people over later.” Harley said nothing, just stared through the windshield. Emma looked perturbed, her expression darkening. “Mom wants to be in the garden,” Jamie riffed. “I get that. We want her to be happy. We’ll make sure she’s happy today, okay? Okay, Emma?”
“Harley needs to be there, too,” she said stubbornly.
At the school Jamie slid a look toward her daughter, whose face was tight and white. Feeling the weight of her gaze, Harley flicked her a look back.
“Okay,” she agreed reluctantly.
“Emma, we’ll be right back,” Jamie said. She’d wanted to leave Emma at home to drive her to work after she saw Harley off, but Emma refused to be alone.
“I’m coming,” Emma said.
“Would you mind waiting?” asked Jamie. “I’d like to take Harley by myself. It’s her first day and all.”
Emma scowled and looked as if she were about to argue. “Don’t be long,” she said.
“I won’t.”
Though the hail had abated, the rain continued, and Harley flipped up the hood of her coat and ran ahead of Jamie into the school. The office was the first door on the left and it was open. There was a din of voices and scuffling footsteps and slamming lockers as Jamie opened the door. She tried to get Harley to go in ahead of her, but she stayed right behind her.
At the counter, Jamie was conscious of the water dripping from the hem of her raincoat onto the tile floor. She explained who she was, and the administrative receptionist clicked some keys on her computer and pulled up Harley’s paperwork. There was some question over her address. They wanted proof that Harley lived in the school district and Jamie had nothing in her name to support that fact. With a dark look, she handed Harley a packet and said there was a map of the school in there, among other helpful items. After promising her that she would get the school all the pieces of information needed ASAP, Jamie turned to Harley, who looked aghast when she offered to walk with her to her first class.
“Don’t worry. I can find it,” Harley told her. “They all know I’m coming, right?” She glanced at the administrator.
“Your teachers, yes. If you would like another student to show you around, I can—”
“Nope. Got it. I’m good.” Harley hitched her backpack onto her shoulder. She wore a denim jacket over a cream-colored T-shirt, a pair of ripped jeans, and sneakers that looked as if someone had tumbled them through the dryer with rocks.
“See you this afternoon.”
“Yeah, for the ashes. Great. Can’t wait.”
And she pushed through the door and disappeared into the hall, heading in the general direction of the noisy students.
Jamie made sure her name and correct phone number were on the list for substitutes. She was impressed by Harley’s fortitude, yet fully aware it was because her daughter would rather face a pool of sharks than be seen being escorted by her mother.
She headed back outside. The hail and rain had stopped and there was a watery sun playing tag with some fast-moving clouds. A woman in a blue suit and white blouse, her blond hair swept into a chignon, was hurrying up the walk. She and Jamie made eye contact at the same moment and the woman stumbled a bit.
“It’s . . . Jamie, right?” she said on a surprised intake of breath. “Jamie Whelan?”
Jamie took a half beat before saying, “Yes. Uh . . .”
“Victoria Stapleton. Victoria Barnes Stapleton. It’s good to see you! What a surprise. Do you have a student in high school? My son’s a junior.”
Icky Vicky.
“Um, my daughter. Harley. She’s starting today, actually. She’s a sophomore.”
“Harley. Huh. My, my, you got going about as fast as I did on the parent track.” She laughed. “Did you just get into town?”
“Last night.”
“Are you staying?”
There was a navy Kate Spade purse slung over her shoulder and her blue pumps were the same shade. The ring on her left hand was big and sparkly and ornate, a ribbon of diamonds sweeping across her finger.
“For the time being. My mother just died.”
“Oh. I heard that. I’m so sorry. How’s Emma doing?”
Though Icky Vicky and Emma had been friends and classmates, Jamie felt a swelling of protective instinct and anger . . . anger that Icky Vicky had clearly prospered since high school, whereas every day was, in its way, a struggle for Emma. The anger melted almost as soon as it formed, however, and guilt took its place. Guilt. Her old friend.
“She’s doing all right.”
“Are you . . . well, I know your mom was taking care of her . . . so are you now . . . ?”
“That’s the current plan.”
She brightened. “Well, your daughter will love it at River Glen High. My son’s on the football team, and River Glen has a real chance of winning district this year, maybe even taking state!”
“Wonderful.”
She shot Jamie a quick look, clearly uncertain if there was sarcasm behind the word. There was, but Jamie had carefully kept it from being heard.
“Well, I’m kind of in a rush. I’m in real estate, you know,” she said, slipping a hand into the purse and magically producing a red card with gold lettering. “If you need anything, anything at all, just call. I would love to personally reacquaint you with the town and all our friends.”
In her peripheral vision, Jamie saw Emma getting out of her car. “Thanks, Vicky,” Jamie said, accepting the card. If there was room in Harley’s shark tank, Jamie would plunge right in rather than be trotted out in front of anyone she’d known from her River Glen days.
“It’s Victoria. And that’s my cell phone,” she said, pointing a navy-blue lacquered nail at the number on the card. Do you have a number, or email?”
Jamie had no interest in handing out her cell number yet. Emma was standing outside the car, looking at both women. Jamie worried that she would come over and prolong the conversation with Vicky, so she rattled off her email and Vicky whipped her hand back inside her purse to grab a small notepad with a pen attached to write it down.
“Your phone?” she asked.
“Not set up yet,” Jamie lied.
“There’s a new Verizon store where Barnaby’s used to be,” she said helpfully.
“Oh. No more Barnaby’s, huh?” Barnaby’s had been a kind of tired-looking diner that Mom had long felt should be shuttered.
“Nope. But the Waystation is still in business,
