his senior year.” Joshua looked guilty now. “But I could barely get him to go when the semester started. He hated everything about Manhattan, but especially going to school there.”
“So what are you going to do?”
He shrugged, then faced her. “This parenting thing is like rocket science to me. I’m damned if I know what to do with him.”
“Beth can help with that,” Maude said. “She’s a teacher. You two sit down and chat. I’m going to get more cookies.” She went through the door and into the house without another word. The screen door banged.
Josh said, “So you’re a teacher?”
“I used to be.”
Josh sat in one of the wicker chairs, waving her to the other one. She glanced toward the young man, but he was sitting on the tailgate now, with headphones on.
“So why did you stop?”
She sent him a quick look. Was he a little too interested in her past? Or just being polite? “Needed a break. I still tutor, though.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “So how long are you going to be here?” she asked, turning the tables by asking questions rather than answering them. It was a skill she’d perfected over the past year.
“To be honest, I don’t know. It depends on a lot of things.”
He had a way of answering a question without revealing a thing. She recognized the tactic, because it was another one she’d grown deft at employing.
“Why is it Maude’s never mentioned you?”
He shrugged. “There’s been a rift in the family.” Then he met her eyes. “It’s kind of personal.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s not a problem.” He looked toward his son again. “I wish I knew what to do about Bryan.”
“I could talk to him…if you want.”
He looked at her as if surprised. “Do you have kids, Beth?”
Jesus. The innocent question knocked the wind out of her. She tried not to let it show in her face, turning away quickly, just as Maude called for Joshua to come help her for a minute.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“Why don’t you go help Maude with those cookies? And tell her I’ll see her in the morning.”
Beth walked down the steps, but she didn’t take the flagstone path. She went out the driveway, pausing by the pickup to tie her shoe and pull herself together. It wasn’t Joshua’s fault, she told herself. He couldn’t possibly know her chance to raise her only child had been stolen from her because of some toy soldier with an itchy trigger finger eighteen years ago.
When she rose it was to see Bryan staring at her. She glanced back toward the porch. Joshua had gone inside. The porch was empty.
Bryan had stacked suitcases on the pickup’s tailgate, though it was completely unnecessary. “Don’t worry, my father has that effect on a lot of people,” he said.
She looked at him, then allowed a smile as she realized he’d witnessed her reaction to Joshua’s question, though he probably hadn’t heard the dialogue. “Then it’s not just me?” she asked.
“Nope.”
“That’s good to know.” She rolled her eyes and saw Bryan’s smile turn from polite to amused. “Your dad tells me you’re in your senior year.”
“Yeah. But I’m taking a semester off.”
She nodded. “What do you still need to graduate?”
“History, Spanish Four, English Twelve.”
Beth smiled a little. “I used to teach English Eleven and Twelve.”
“Used to? What, you don’t anymore?”
“I’m taking a semester off.”
He smiled at her, his eyes, and interest, sincere.
“Actually, more like a few semesters. I still tutor, though. Let me know if you want to get those English credits out of the way while you’re in town. Give me an hour a day and I’ll have you ready for the final by Christmas.”
“I doubt we’ll be here that long.”
“Then give me two hours a day and make it Thanksgiving.”
He looked at her. “You know, it’s actually not all that bad an idea.”
She liked Bryan, she decided. She liked him a lot. Dawn would like him, too, if she were here. “Well, it’s up to you. I’m not pushing. And it would be tough on limited time. You’d have to be up for a challenge.”
“English is my best subject. How much do you charge?”
“What are you, kidding? You’re Maude’s great-grandson.”
“I don’t want a free ride.”
“Well, we can work something out, then. Maybe you could help me with a few chores?”
He nodded. “Okay. Sounds good.”
She smiled, pleasantly surprised. “You mean we’re on?”
“We’re on,” he said, extending a hand.
She shook on it, feeling buoyant and knowing why. She could help this kid. And he was going to let her. “We can start tomorrow. My place at noon. Maude can tell you where.”
“Great. See you then.”
“You’ll see me sooner.” She jogged down the driveway, turned left onto the lane, and fell into an easy rhythm.
She didn’t think she liked the man. Then again, she didn’t like any man. She didn’t trust them. But she liked his son. Maybe that was because looking at all the grief and loss in the boy’s eyes was like looking into a mirror. Or maybe it was because she knew that no matter how much the people in his life would like him to “get over it” there was no such thing. He could deny it, defy it, or learn to live with it. But he couldn’t get over it.
God knew she never had.
Mordecai had set himself up in one of the seven perfect Victorian homes situated in a neighborhood halfway between the towns of Blackberry and Pinedale. The houses had been purchased by some brilliant entrepreneur twenty-odd years ago, according to Mordecai’s research—he didn’t believe in going anywhere without all the information. The houses were rented out to wealthy families as vacation homes in the summer and to foliage-seeking tourists in the fall. In the winter, the skiing enthusiasts took over, and from February through March, they were inhabited by folks in town for the maple syrup season, and all the festivals and events it
