his name. That’s all.”
Smart man. “In other words, he made the first move and the rest is up to you?”
“Exactly.”
“You phoned him?”
She nodded. “I did, and he answered on the first ring—almost as if he’d been sitting there waiting for me to call. It felt wonderful to talk to him again. We were getting along famously until—” Her eyes narrowed and she heaved a deep sigh.
“Until what?”
“He asked me to dinner on Friday night, and I made the mistake of saying there must be something in the air because I was getting dinner invitations right and left.”
Not the most brilliant comment, Grace agreed, but Olivia already knew that.
“It took Jack about two seconds to realize the other invitation came from Stan. Then he got all weird on me and said he was busy on Friday, after all. He wished me a lovely evening with Stan, and before I could say another word, he made some excuse and was off the phone.”
Grace wanted to groan out loud.
Olivia’s shoulders sank. “Now you know why I’m upset.”
“You aren’t going to dinner with Stan, are you?” Grace asked, just to be sure.
“Not hardly,” Olivia muttered.
“I’m free Friday night. Want to go to the movies?”
Olivia laughed. “You’re on, my friend. Who needs men, anyway?”
Maybe, Grace decided, she’d find a way to get Jack Griffin to the theater on Friday evening. Apparently there were times when romance could use a helping hand.
Rosie finished writing out the words her second-graders had to copy. She set the worn chalk down on the blackboard ledge and brushed the dust from her hands.
The bell rang, indicating class was dismissed for the day. “Don’t forget to remind your parents that Open House is tonight,” she told the students. Open House introduced the teacher to the parents, and it usually occurred in the third week of September.
The children leapt up from their desks, grabbed their bags and backpacks, then dashed out. All except Jolene Peyton. The little girl with the long dark pigtails wore a forlorn look as she walked, head bowed, to the front of the room.
“Can I help you, Jolene?” Rosie asked gently.
The little girl kept her eyes lowered. “Only my daddy can come tonight.”
“That’s wonderful. I look forward to meeting him.”
Jolene slowly raised her head until her eyes met Rosie’s. “My mommy died in a car accident.”
“I know, sweetheart, and I’m so sorry.” Rosie’s heart went out to the motherless little girl.
“Every week Daddy and I put flowers by the road where she died.”
Rosie knew that, too. The flowers and balloons often caught her eye at the busy intersection.
“Well, I’m glad your father’s coming to the Open House,” Rosie said.
Jolene nodded. “He said it was one of those things Mommy would do if she was still here.”
Rosie tucked her arm around the seven-year-old’s shoulder. It was apparent even now, almost two years after the accident, that Jolene missed her mother.
“I told my daddy that I need a mommy, and he said he’d think about it.” She sighed deeply. “He says that a lot.”
So did she, Rosie thought with a grin. “I’ll think about it” was in every mother’s repertoire.
That evening as the classroom started to fill with parents, Rosie made it a point to seek out Jolene’s father. The little girl led him into the classroom, then rushed to bring him juice and cookies from the table set up at the front.
While he waited for his daughter, Bruce Peyton stood in the background, not mingling with the other parents. He was nice-looking, but he had a somber air about him, a remoteness, which was perfectly understandable. School events such as this evening’s must be a painful reminder that he was alone. He was of average height and on the thin side. His clothes hung loose on him. Rosie could only assume this was due to a recent weight loss. His eyes were an intense blue, compelling her to steal glances in his direction.
It’d been many years—decades—since Rosie had really looked at another man. Her flirting skills had rusted from lack of use, although she was confident Janice Lamond could teach her a thing or two.
When Rosie was free she made her way toward Bruce. She smiled and held out her hand. “Hello, I’m Rosie Cox, Jolene’s teacher. I just want to say I’m very sorry about your wife.”
“Thank you.” The widower’s smile was fleeting and he clasped her hand for only a few seconds. “I’m pleased to meet you.”
“Mrs. Cox is a good teacher, but she’s not my real teacher,” Jolene told him earnestly.
“I’m taking over until Mrs. Gough recovers from surgery,” Rosie explained. “This is my first time back in the classroom after, uh, several years. I was recently—divorced.” The word nearly choked her. To Rosie’s horror, tears filled her eyes and she had to turn away before she embarrassed them both.
Through sheer force of will, Rosie managed to hold on to her composure. While she talked to several other parents, Bruce lingered; Jolene showed him her desk and led him to the play area at the back of the room.
By eight o’clock, just a few parents and children remained. Rosie carried the empty punch bowl and cookie plate to the cafeteria kitchen, and when she returned, Bruce and Jolene were the only two left.
“If Jolene needs extra help with her reading or spelling, please let me know,” he said.
“I’ll be happy to,” Rosie assured him. “It was nice meeting you.”
“You, too.” He reached for his little girl’s hand, then hesitated. His gaze briefly sought hers. “I’m sorry about your divorce.”
Rosie looked down and nodded. “I…am, too.”
He left after that, and not a moment too soon. Once again Rosie found herself blinking back tears.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. To all outward appearances, Zach was having the time of his life. When Allison and Eddie were with him they cooked together; the three of them got along famously. It didn’t work that way on the nights Rosie spent with her children. Allison and Eddie bickered incessantly and her teenage daughter challenged Rosie’s authority at every turn. She’d clearly taken Zach’s side in the divorce.
Feet dragging, Rosie entered the small apartment she shared with Zach. He was with the children this evening, and she doubted Eddie had made a fuss at bedtime. Those bouts of temper were reserved for the nights Rosie spent with the children. Allison had probably volunteered to wash the dinner
