The State of Parenthood

The car stopped beside the entrance. As Nola stepped onto the cobblestone driveway, girls’ voices floated through the open doorway from the main hall, competing with the sounds of birds twittering in the trees.

Garrett scrambled out behind Nola and went immediately to the rear of the car. “I need to get Homer to some water.”

Lifting the lid of the trunk, the driver said, “I’ll bring your bags in, Ms. Shannon. Just have someone tell me where I should put them.”

She turned to him and extended her hand. “I will. Thank you for everything. You’ve been a good sport.”

He grinned. “Hey, it’s not my suitcase that turtle’s been traveling in.”

Nola rolled her eyes. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

Garrett started up the steps, but then hesitated and turned back to wave at the driver. “Thank you for the ride,” he said, his cheeks flushed. “Me and Homer woulda had a long walk.”

The driver returned a two-fingered salute. “No problem.”

Nola joined Garrett on the steps. “Where do you think you’ll find your father?”

“In his office or at a meeting or something.” The boy picked up Nola’s case and climbed the remainder of the stone stairs, leaning a little to the side with the weight of the turtle. “He said he’d be done about four o’clock.”

“That gives you at least an hour to wait.” As they stepped inside, the tall case clock by the door began to play the Westminster chimes, a sequence as familiar to Nola as her own breath. The huge entry hall—fifty feet square, according to the Hawkridge Student’s Manual—had always been an afternoon gathering place for students, and nothing had changed there, either. Singles, pairs and groups of girls sat cross-legged on the black-and-white marble floor tiles, leaned against mahogany-paneled walls or perched on the steps of the circular staircase with its wrought-iron banister, studying and gossiping, arguing and laughing, as they’d done for more than forty years.

To the casual observer, the scene suggested a very expensive, very elegant private school for girls. But Agatha Ridgely, Howard Ridgely’s only child, had dedicated the estate and her fortune to a special cause. For most of these students, the Hawkridge School was the last resort, a final chance to turn their lives around before their behavioral problems—and the criminal-justice system—took over.

Having rung the chimes, the clock gave three sonorous strikes—marking the time for Nola’s appointment with the headmistress. Before the last note died away, a door on the right side of the hall opened. The woman who stepped out smiled as the entry hall instantly went silent.

“It’s okay,” she said, her voice low but clear. “I won’t start cracking the whip until Monday morning at eight.”

Judging by their laughter, the girls did not feel particularly threatened.

When she saw Nola, the other woman quickly crossed the floor. She wore a white shirt, dark blue slacks and sensible shoes, but her colorful sweater was decorated with cartoon characters—a crazy rabbit and his roadrunner pal, plus a wise-cracking duck and a bald little man with a rifle.

Her smooth skin revealed she was younger than she’d first appeared. Her chestnut-brown hair, combed back to fell in waves over her shoulders, showed not a single strand of gray.

“Nola, there you are! Welcome to Hawkridge. I’m Jayne Thomas, the ringmaster of this circus. Please forgive the noise—spring break has just ended and the girls are catching up on each other’s lives.” She took Nola’s hand without really shaking it, then looked down at Garrett. “Helping with the luggage, Garrett? That’s nice of you.”

“Uh, not exactly.” He shifted Nola’s case to his other hand. “She let me borrow it.”

The headmistress widened her eyes. “For what?”

“Homer,” Nola said. “A turtle he found on the road.”

“Oh, Garrett.” The headmistress now looked quite distressed, indeed. “Tell me you didn’t put a turtle in that beautiful suitcase.”

“He was gonna get hurt in the trunk,” Garrett explained. “Ms. Shannon said I could.”

“Oh, dear.” Jayne Thomas placed a hand on Nola’s shoulder. “Garrett’s well-known for his collecting habits. He keeps an entire menagerie of injured animals.”

“I’m glad I could help.” Nola smiled. “I hope his father won’t mind one more addition to the collection.”

“Dad doesn’t care.” Garrett glanced up at the curved balcony running around three sides of the entry hall. “There he is now. Dad! Hey, Dad!”

He ran to the circular staircase and started up, lugging the suitcase with him, dodging the girls who lounged on the steps, talking and laughing. “Come see what I found, Dad. It’s the coolest box turtle, ever!”

Somewhere out of sight, a man said, “A box turtle, so early in the spring? I guess this warm spell has brought them out of hibernation.”

His voice hadn’t changed, and Nola would have recognized it anywhere. The years rolled back, and she was eighteen again…

…standing at the foot of the staircase on a hot August afternoon, when a gorgeous guy wearing jeans and a navy sports jacket stepped through the front door. He slipped his backpack off his shoulder, looked in her direction and grinned.

“I’m Mason Reed,” he said in a delicious southern drawl. “The new physics teacher. And you are…?”

In love, Nola answered silently. Totally and forever in love. With you.

Chapter Two

“There’s Mason, now.”

Jayne Thomas’s voice brought Nola back to the present. In the next moment, he descended into view on the staircase, but then quickly crouched down to peer at the turtle Garrett—his son, Garrett—revealed in Nola’s suitcase. Through the iron balusters, she could see that Mason’s hair was as dark as she remembered, the same silky brown as Garrett’s. Worn a little long, the relaxed waves brushed his jacket collar and the curves of his ears and his eyebrows. Still lean and flat waisted, he straightened up without visible effort.

“Where did the bag come from?” he asked his son as they headed down the stairs. “That’s a pretty fancy carrying case for a box turtle.”

“I got a ride from the highway,” Garrett explained. “It was the coolest car, Dad, with a fridge and a food cabinet and everything. The lady in the car gave me the suitcase.”

Mason stopped, braced his hands on his hips and glared at his son. “What have I told you about accepting rides from strangers?” The drawl had hardened, developed a sharp edge.

“It’s okay, Dad. She’s a teacher.” At the bottom of the staircase, Garrett led the way to where Nola stood, paralyzed, beside Jayne Thomas. “See? Ms. Shannon said she’d be working here. With you. So I knew it would be okay.”

Nola watched Mason’s deep brown gaze widen with shock as he realized who she was. She’d changed her appearance since twelve years ago, but she was still too tall and too thin, with washed-out blue eyes and pale, straight hair.

When he didn’t say anything, she swallowed hard and forced herself to smile. “Hello, Mason. It’s good to see you again.”

“Nola!” The shock in his eyes transformed into pleasure. “Welcome back! I had no idea…” He looked at Jayne Thomas. “Did I know Nola would be teaching here?”

The headmistress shook her head in mock dismay. “There were only about five memos on the topic in your box. She’s substituting for Maryann Lawrence during her maternity leave.”

Mason winced. “I tend to ignore those. Sorry.” Before Nola could prepare herself, he settled his hands on her shoulders and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “That’s okay—the surprise is terrific. I’m so glad to see you.”

“Thanks.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as faint as she felt. He smelled so good, like limes and evergreens and mountain air. His mouth was firm against her skin, his shoulders broad as he came so near.

“And this, I take it,” he said, stepping back, “is…was your suitcase?” He peered down into the bag, then looked up at her, one eyebrow lifted. “I don’t think you’ll want it back.”

“Um, probably not.” She returned his grin with a smile. “Garrett can keep it for collecting purposes.”

“Cool,” Garrett said. “Dad, I need to get Homer some water. Can I take him to your lab?”

“Sure. Just don’t let him loose—the cleaning staff doesn’t like wildlife in the hallways.”

As the boy went back up the stairs, Jayne Thomas said, “I think that pretty much covers our interview, Nola. I just wanted to say welcome and encourage you to call me with any questions you have. The faculty meeting starts in ten minutes. You remember the way to the library?”

“Of course. Can I tell my driver where to take my luggage?”

“I’ve put you in Pink’s Cottage. I’ll have my secretary give him directions and a key.”

With a nod, the headmistress went back through the door into the office suite. Nola was aware of all the girls in the entry hall watching her out of the corners of their eyes. For them, this was just the arrival of a new teacher. They didn’t know the history behind her meeting—her reunion—with Mason Reed.

After an awkward pause, Mason cleared his throat. “You didn’t attend the five-year reunion for your class.”

“I was at Oxford on a fellowship. I couldn’t get back.”

He nodded, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “So I heard. You’ve made a real success of your career. Not too many mathematicians are close to having Ivy League tenure before they reach the age of thirty.”

Nola tried for a light response. “I had a terrific mentor in high school. He helped me believe I could do anything I wanted.”

Mason’s one-sided smile acknowledged the compliment. “A very smart man.” He gestured toward the stairs, walking beside her as she set her feet on steps worn into curves by decades of student use. “I’ve read your papers. Brilliant, of course. Your Domino corollary, alone, would have secured you a place in the mathematics hall of fame. If there is one.”

She gave an embarrassed laugh. “I’m glad there’s not.”

They reached the top of the stairs and moved into the north wing, along a hallway leading past literature and language classrooms toward the library.

“I have to admit I’m puzzled,” Mason said. “Most graduates of Hawkridge send money as their contribution to the school. Very few return to do the work themselves.”

He stopped and turned to look at her, his head cocked to one side. “What really brings you back, Nola Shannon? Why are you here?”

Nola kept her chin up, holding his gaze with her own. But she couldn’t answer his question.

Because, at that moment, she couldn’t remember what she’d come for—or what she’d planned to do when, after twelve long years, she once again stood face-to-face with Mason Reed.

MASON WINCED as he heard his own words. “And I sound like a nosy old geezer,” he said, watching a rosy blush flow across Nola’s cheeks. “What I should have said was that I’m really proud of you, and I appreciate your willingness to help out.”

The girl he remembered would have stared at the floor in embarrassment. But this new Nola didn’t look away, though the tint in her cheeks deepened. “I’m glad. I…I’ve thought about you often.”

He had forgotten the color of her eyes—a pale blue-gray, like shadows on fresh snow. She’d been thin as a teenager and remained so, but the ash-blond hair he remembered hanging halfway down her back was now cut into short, tousled wisps that revealed the shape of her head and set off her delicate pearl-pink ears. The transformation—and his visceral reaction to it—completely confused him.

“I guess the last time I saw you was graduation day.” He paused at the door of the library, aware of the teachers inside waiting to meet their new colleague, aware that he wanted to keep her all to himself. “You’re not eighteen anymore.”

“No.” She looked away for a second. “I’m sorry about Ms. Chance…Your wife. Garrett told me.”

Mason took a deep breath against the familiar twist in his gut. “That’s right. She taught here your last year, didn’t she? I wish she had known you better. She was very good for the girls.”

Before Nola could reply, a coffee-colored hand with long red, white and blue nails clamped on to her arm.

“Mason Reed,” the owner of that hand said, in a loud, rich voice, “you cannot monopolize our new teacher. You bring her in to meet the rest of us right this minute!”

“Alice Tolbert,” Mason said, making an introductory gesture toward the short, plump chair of the literature department. “She serves as unofficial faculty den mother.”

Alice gave a decisive nod. “Somebody has to keep this crowd in line. Poor Tommy can’t do it all herself.”

Nola’s brows drew together. “Tommy?”

Mason grinned. “That’s the girls’ nickname for Jayne Thomas. Pretty much everybody calls her Tommy now, though not usually to her face.”

“Come on,” Alice insisted, drawing Nola after her into the library. “We’re all dying to talk to you.”

Following Alice and Nola into the library, Mason found a place in the back row of study tables and took a seat. Alice managed to present Nola to every member of the faculty, taking her from group to group with the kind of efficiency an army general would admire. As the headmistress stepped up to the podium, Alice pulled out a chair for Nola at the front table, offered her a notepad and pen, then sat down beside her with an air of satisfaction.

Nola looked shell-shocked, Mason thought, but anybody would, running a gauntlet like the Hawkridge faculty in under ten minutes. Thoughtfully, Jayne made the official introduction her first order of business, and she didn’t expect Nola to say anything beyond the standard “glad to be here” before moving right into the business of the meeting.

Mason let his mind wander, but not far for a change. He watched as Nola gradually relaxed her shoulders and spine against the chair, saw her doodling and taking notes. He observed the elegant angles of her elbow and wrist, the graceful crossing and uncrossing of her legs. Gazing at her profile, he saw her lips curve into a smile and caught himself smiling in response.

Damn. He wrenched his gaze from Nola’s face to the agenda sheet lying on the table in front of him. The words blurred, focused, blurred again. “Vandalism…spring dance…graduation list…” He should care about these issues.

But all he could think about was Nola Shannon. She’d been a senior when he arrived at Hawkridge for his first teaching position, an orphaned teenager from Boston with a lot of money and no one there who really cared what happened to her. He’d recognized her potential immediately and pushed her toward college, advising her as she prepared the applications. In the process, they’d become friends.

More than friends, to be strictly accurate. In fact, he had almost fallen in love with Nola Shannon.

Fortunately, he’d managed to get control of himself before his job, his career and his good name had been threatened by an inappropriate relationship. The weeks before graduation were always filled with chaos and excitement in equal measure, and he doubted Nola had even noticed how he’d backed off. In a matter of days, it seemed, she’d chosen to attend Harvard, had received her diploma and then—poof—vanished from his life.

Now she was back, and he had a hollow feeling in his belly, as if he’d been tackled by an NFL pro. He hadn’t cared about a woman’s curves since Gail had gotten sick four years ago, but he sure was noticing Nola’s narrow waist, defined by a slim black belt, and the swell of her breasts under a soft gray shirt.

Mason didn’t like thinking about a former student this way. As the only male teacher in an all-girls’ school, he walked a very narrow line. He’d been careful to keep his balance, since the near miss with Nola. His tutoring sessions always were conducted with at least three girls present, his office door remained open at all times. Any kind of involvement with a student, even a former student who’d returned as a fellow teacher, might endanger twelve years of work.

Especially now, when he’d just sent out applications to a dozen different schools across the country, looking for a new job.

More important, he was a man in mourning for his dead wife, with a son who still called out for “Mommy” in his dreams and talked to her when he said his prayers. Garrett wasn’t ready to see his father with another woman. Hell, until this afternoon, Mason would have sworn he, himself, wasn’t ready to talk to a female about anything more personal than work. Or maybe baseball. Nola’s presence didn’t—shouldn’t—change his situation in the least.

When the meeting finally broke up, Mason left the library without a word to anyone. He would treat Nola as a colleague, keep his distance. Staying current with grading and lesson plans—not that he’d been doing such a great job of that this school year—offered him plenty to occupy his 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 gone to the pond together to return Homer to the wild.