“Nothing.” She pushed the book aside. “You’re clearly not suited for that kind of position, though.”
“But—”
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll keep a special eye out for anything that might work for you and I’ll call you immediately if I see something.” She started to stand up.
“Wait.” Grace put a hand up. “How much does it pay? The bus-driver position, I mean.”
Ms. Lindon looked in the book and quoted a figure.
Grace did some quick calculations and said, “That could work. I could survive on that pay.” She’d carefully budgeted what she needed to save each month in order to be able to move back north in one year. This salary would cover that and leave a little over at the end of the month for incidentals. It would be a strenuously budgeted life, but it would be temporary. “I’ll take it.”
“That’s only if they hire you, of course.”
There was that knot in the pit of her stomach again. “Do you think they won’t?”
“I don’t suppose you’ve ever driven a bus before?”
“No.” Of course not.
The older woman shrugged. “Might not matter. It does say they’ll train. You’d have to interview first, of course. I can only refer you. Whether or not they hire you depends on how that interview goes.” She hesitated before adding, “If you really want to try it.”
“I do.” Grace took a slow breath. She wasn’t going to get sidetracked into a discussion about whether or not she knew what she was saying. “You mentioned there’s a tuition benefit for my son?”
“Says so here. You can talk to Mr. Stewart about that more if you interview.”
Grace noticed that if. “Okay, set up an interview.” She straightened and brushed a fly off the front of her dove-gray Armani suit. She’d bought it in Milan two years ago. Things were different then. “I’ll be a bus driver.”
Chapter Two
The familiarity of the Connor Primary Day School campus was disconcerting to Grace. It was as if nothing had changed in the twenty-some years since she’d attended, except that the trees were a little taller and the buildings looked a little smaller. Hope mingled with melancholy as she parked the car and got out to walk to the old red barn where the garage was located. Was it merely familiarity that was making Grace’s stomach flutter this way, or was it a premonition that she would get the job and everything would—eventually—be all right?
Having always been an optimist, she decided to believe the latter.
The office door was shut when she reached it, and for one terrible moment she feared that Ms. Lindon had sent her on a wild-goose chase. Grace had been so insistent about interviewing for the job that maybe the woman had just sent her out here to get rid of her. Her fear was exacerbated when she knocked and there was no answer. Within a few seconds, she’d almost convinced herself that there wasn’t even anyone here when a movement behind the old mottled-glass door caught her eye. Someone was here. Ms. Lindon wasn’t that mean—Grace had just let her imagination get carried away. She took a quick breath to bolster her nerve and knocked again, more firmly. A voice called out something inside, but she couldn’t understand what it said. Come on in? Or maybe Go away! Or even Get help, fast, I’m being held at gunpoint!
Now what was she supposed to do?
Deciding it was better to go forward with confidence than to appear timid, she opened the door and poked her head in, surprised to find she was so blinded by the sun outside that she couldn’t see in the dark, cool office. “Mr. Stewart?”
“That’s right. What can I do for you?” The man’s voice was nice. Smooth and kind, and she felt herself relax when it reached her.
She stepped in from the heat and said, in the general direction of the voice, since her eyes hadn’t yet adjusted to the light, “I have an appointment to interview with you. About the job opening here.”
There was an uncomfortable moment of silence while the splotchy figure across the room sat unmoving. Just as he was beginning to come into view, he said, in a voice she was suddenly able to place with absolute clarity, “Grace?”
Her stomach dropped. She imagined it plunking on the ground next to her and bouncing like an india-rubber ball. She blinked hard, and within a few seconds her vision came back to normal.
She almost wished it hadn’t.
There, before her, was a face she’d envisioned a million times over the years, a face she’d never thought she’d see again. A little older, of course, but the same golden tanned skin, now with a faint web of lines around the clear blue eyes. Same dark wavy hair that, in contrast, had always made those eyes absolutely striking. She’d always reacted physically to them, and to the charismatic man they belonged to.
Luke Stewart.
Grace couldn’t have been more surprised to see him if he’d been lassoing steer in her mother’s backyard. God almighty, she’d never dreamed Luke was the Mr. Stewart she was supposed to see. She didn’t even know he was still in town. Not only in town, but here, not ten feet away from her, behind a desk that was piled with papers, the odd piece of horse tack and quite possibly control of her future.
It seemed like twenty minutes that Grace stood there, trying to recapture her breath and find a voice beneath the stomach and heart that had lodged themselves in her throat. It wasn’t merely surprising to see Luke, it was deeply disconcerting. It had always been disconcerting to be around Luke Stewart, but why hadn’t she outgrown this particularly juvenile kind of heart-pounding, lip-trembling, struck-dumb reaction?
Just because once upon a time, a long time ago, she’d thought she’d loved him.
But instead of telling him, she’d married his best friend.
It was Luke who finally broke the silence. “You’re back.”
She nodded. “For a while.”
He held her gaze. She felt as powerless as a mortal in a Greek myth, unable to look away. “I thought you were gone for good,” he said.
Grace hoped she could sound calm and unaffected while her insides raged. “You just never know about people,” she said pointedly.
“No,” he agreed, just as pointedly. “No, you don’t.” He took a deep breath and blew it out, shuffling papers on the desk. “So. How long are you planning to stay?”
“About a year. I want to take my son back to New Jersey as soon as I can. To his friends and his school and all.”
Something flickered across Luke’s expression, but it was gone before she could identify it. “I heard about Michael. I’m sorry.”
Had he heard it from Michael himself? Surely not. They’d been pals in high school, but as far as Grace knew, they hadn’t spoken in years. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”
He shrugged. “Never did. What are you here to talk about, Grace?”
