Chapter Four
Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold thou art fair; thou hast doves’ eyes.
—The Song of Solomon 1:15
Taryn Robinson checked her reflection in the full-length mirror attached to the closet door. She’d selected a black wool gabardine pantsuit, white silk blouse and black suede booties to meet her prospective employer, who had informed her that she had passed his background check.
It had been ages since she’d had to interview for a job; the last time was years ago when she’d walked into a school building in downtown Brooklyn. At that time, she was a twenty-two-year-old with an undergraduate degree in early elementary education, a graduate degree in reading and a teacher certification. She had sought a position in a school where she could not only teach but also make a difference.
Her idealism had come from her social worker mother, who went above and beyond for her disadvantaged clients, and it was no different for Taryn, because she saw firsthand how some children had fallen through the cracks when she was a student-teacher in a less than desirable Washington, DC, neighborhood. However, she was realistic enough to know she couldn’t change the world but only begin with one child at a time. Fast-forward nearly ten years, and she’d just resigned her position at that same school to leave all that was familiar to put down roots in a new state.
This was her third trip to Wickham Falls, the town with a population boasting less than forty-eight hundred residents and two traffic lights. The first time she’d come was to visit her former Howard University roommate, earlier that summer, and the second was to stand in as Jessica Calhoun’s maid of honor when she married Sawyer Middleton.
Now she had returned to the house to dog-sit for the newlyweds honeymooning in the Caribbean, and interview for the position as a live-in teacher to homeschool single father Aiden Gibson’s preschool daughters. Her backup plan, if Aiden decided not to hire her, was to apply for a position as a reading specialist or a permanent substitute teacher with the Johnson County school district where Jessica taught fifth grade. Taryn still could not believe that she was willing to trade the nonstop energy of New York City for the slow and easygoing pace of a small town in West Virginia.
It had taken a while for her to weigh her options on whether or not to relocate because she was at a crossroads in her life. She was thirty-two years old, soon to be a thirty-three-year-old, elementary schoolteacher living with her parents and grandmother, and the ninety-minute commute each way between Long Island and downtown Brooklyn had become emotionally and physically exhausting. There had been a time when her total daily commute was less than twenty minutes, but that all changed after she sold her condo to move in with her then boyfriend, who’d subsequently slept with her coworker and best friend.
Her mother had been devastated when Taryn revealed her boyfriend’s betrayal, while her brother went ballistic, threatening to inflict bodily harm on the man who’d cheated on his sister. Taryn had to talk both off the proverbial ledge when she made arrangements for James not to be in the apartment when she went there to pack up her clothes and personal items.
She also wanted a clean break from the school in which she taught because every day she had to be around the colleague who’d deceived her. And instead of confronting the scheming woman, she ignored her as if nothing had occurred. There was no way she was going to lower her standards and fight with a woman over a man. Her mantra was “Men are like trains. There is always one leaving the station.” It had been almost eighteen months since her last relationship ended and she was in no hurry to begin another one.
Although she would miss her parents, grandmother, brother, his wife and their children, she would not miss the traffic jams that added to her commuting woes. Sitting in her car for an interminable length of time on the Long Island Expressway, dubbed the world’s longest parking lot, would become a thing of the past.
She’d spoken to Aiden the day before and he’d given her the directions to get to his house. Taryn wasn’t certain why he wanted to homeschool his four-and five-year-old daughters, but she would find out soon enough.
She checked her hair and makeup for the last time, and then turned on her heel. Jessica’s black-and-white bichon frise–poodle mix sniffed her shoes. “I can’t play with you now, Bootsy, but Auntie Taryn promises to take you on a long walk around the neighborhood when I come back.” Aiden had set up the interview for eight that morning because he was scheduled to be at his restaurant at nine.
Walking Bootsy had become therapeutic for Taryn because it gave her time to question whether she had made the right decision to give up all she had in New York to come to a place she never knew existed before Jessica moved there. Her initial reaction to Wickham Falls was that it was too quiet, too small and much too remote. There were no malls, fast-food restaurants, bigbox stores or drugstore chains, and railroad tracks ran through the center of town. Moving to what locals called “The Falls” was akin to culture shock for Taryn, but she was willing to risk it because she needed to start over.
Taryn gathered her tote with the large envelope filled with the documents she promised to give to Aiden, left the house, locked the door behind her and got into her recently purchased late-model black Nissan Pathfinder. She’d put so many miles on her old car driving between Suffolk County in Long Island and Brooklyn that she feared breaking down when she least expected. She started the engine, programmed Aiden’s address into the GPS and backed out of the driveway and onto Porterfield Lane. Lights, wreathes and Christmas decorations adorned many of the homes along the street. Most were tastefully decorated, unlike a few of the homes in her Long Island neighborhood where homeowners competed to outdo one another with lights, music and inflatables.
It took less than four minutes for her to arrive at the address Aiden had given her. She parked in front of a large three-story white farmhouse with a wraparound porch, black shutters and matching front door. American and US Navy flags were suspended from porch columns. Taryn smiled. Aiden and her brother had something in common.
