time and his brain. The students needed more than he’d been giving lately. He could improve there, as well. All the while avoiding too much time with the disturbing Nola Shannon.
“So, did you like Ms. Shannon, Dad?” Garrett walked beside Mason on the way home, staunchly carrying Nola’s expensive suitcase with its homely occupant inside. “I thought she was cool. She said she went to Hawkridge. Were you her teacher?”
“I was. Back before you were born. Even before your mom and I got married.” Which made him feel about a hundred years old—no kind of candidate for a romance, inappropriate or not.
“That must be kinda weird, to see one of your students grown up.” Sometimes, Garrett was too perceptive for a ten-year-old. Maybe that happened when kids lost their moms.
“Most students do grow up, you know.” Though not always in such an appealing way as Nola had. Mason clenched his jaw, trying not to think about it.
“Yeah.” Garrett set down the turtle case in their front yard. “Maybe you could invite her over sometime, so she could see the animals. I bet she’d be interested.”
Mason climbed the porch steps and crossed to the front door. “I expect she’ll be pretty busy.” With the door unlocked, he dropped his briefcase by the table in the hallway. “And I’m pretty busy, too.”
“Oh, Dad. You always say that.”
“It’s always true.” Before he could say more, the dogs came running from the back of the house. Gimp, the three-legged terrier mix, made a mad dash for Garrett, his idol, ignoring Mason completely. But Ruff and Ready, two “Carolina brown dog” puppies who’d shown up last winter during a snowstorm, stopped for an ear scratch and a couple of pats before rushing outside to play. Last came Gail’s old dog, Angel, a golden retriever with more white than gold in her fur these days and eyes blurred by cataracts. Mason gave her a gentle back rub and some soft words.
“It’s not always true.” Garrett stayed outside on the grass, with Gimp bouncing around him and Homer rustling in the suitcase. “You just don’t try anymore. You say you will, but you never do.”
When his dad’s only answer was a shrug and a crooked smile, Garrett gave up. Blowing a frustrated breath, he picked up the case with Homer inside and headed toward the back of the house and the pond beyond.
At the corner of the house, though, he tried one more time. “Want to come?” he yelled.
“I’ve got design work to do,” his dad answered. “I’ll catch you later. Stay out of the water.”
The sad thing was, he really did intend to spend time on his airplane plans. Garrett could remember the days when page after page of computer diagrams littered the floor of his dad’s office—designs he produced using different systems, materials and structures. He’d built models, too, along with simple balsa-wood planes they used to fly together in the afternoons while Mom cooked dinner.
These days, though, his dad would go into the house, hesitate at the office door, then turn on TV news in the den and sit down with the latest book he’d ordered—always a mystery or science fiction—until dinnertime. Or maybe he’d decide to do some housework. Lately he’d been a real fanatic about keeping everything neat and clean, like Mom always had.
After they ate, Dad would do some grading or make up tests for his classes while Garrett finished his homework. Then they went to bed. His dad didn’t go to sleep right away, though. If Garrett woke up in the middle of the night to pee, more often than not his dad was still reading. Or just lying in bed with the light on, staring at the ceiling.
Switching the suitcase from his right hand to his left, Garrett went through the open gate in the backyard fence and on down the slope through the woods leading to the pond. Angel had stayed behind at the house, but Ruff and Ready and Gimp had come with him and now they zigzagged through the undergrowth, checking out scent trails and animal droppings. He’d patrolled the forest this morning, looking for lost baby squirrels and raccoons, grounded birds and other wildlife, so he felt safe letting the dogs run.
The pond filled a small opening amid the trees, with only a narrow bank around it. Sometimes, after a hard rain, the tree roots closest to the pond would be underwater. But today there was a muddy border for him to kneel on as he tipped the case onto its side.
“Okay, Homer. Here you go.” He tapped the bottom with his hand. “Slide on out, buddy. This is your new neighborhood.”
Homer stuck his head out and looked around, then put one foot on the mud. Gimp came up beside them, sniffing, and Homer jerked back inside his shell.
“Shoo! Go on, Gimp, leave me alone.” Garrett pushed the dog away. “Get back in the trees.”
Right then one of the other dogs barked, and Gimp took off to investigate. Garrett encouraged Homer again, and this time the turtle slipped all the way out onto the bank.
Moving carefully, Garrett picked up the bag and backed away, watching to see which way the turtle headed. Homer sat there for a few minutes, then made his slow, steady way toward the high grass along the edge of the water and disappeared.
“Whew.” Garrett took a deep breath and let it out. “Stay away from the highway,” he said out loud. “You got all you need right here. Prob’ly even a lady turtle to make a family with.”
From what he could tell, the instinct to mate and create new members of the species was the major motivation for animals of all kinds. They ate to survive, and they survived to reproduce. That’s what his mom had told him.
Garrett glanced up at the patch of pale sky above the pond. “Is that what Dad needs, Mom? A reason to survive?”
His dad cared about him, Garrett didn’t doubt it for a minute. But a ten-year-old could take care of himself. Maybe his dad needed a new baby to get interested in. And that would require a mom.
He glanced at the sky again. “I need some help with this, Mom. Show me what to do.”
PINK’S COTTAGE, named for the long-departed Josiah Pink, was one of a dozen small houses scattered within walking distance of the Manor, as the main house was called, on the Hawkridge estate. In the grand old days, senior staff members such as Josiah, who had been Howard Ridgely’s personal secretary, lived in these cottages. Now the school made ten of these houses available to teachers and kept the other two as guest accommodations.
Nola found her luggage on the floor of the single bedroom in Pink’s Cottage, lined up from smallest bag to largest, minus the lingerie case, of course. Fresh daffodils filled a vase on the table by the casement window, cut from the Hawkridge gardens, she was sure. White curtains lifted with the breeze and a white spread stretched invitingly over the plump mattress. She looked forward to settling in there later tonight.
First, there was dinner to get through. Jayne Thomas had caught her at the end of the faculty meeting and invited her to supper in the Hawkridge dining hall. Much as she wanted the chance to relax by herself, an invitation to the head table was not to be declined.
So she spent her free half hour changing for dinner and wondering why Mason had disappeared so fast, without a word or even a wave. The meeting had run long, as the faculty discussed several incidents of vandalism on school property, the upcoming spring dance—the biggest social event of the Hawkridge year—and of course the impending senior graduation. Maybe Garrett was the reason Mason had left so quickly. Maybe they’d
