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  “My housekeeper. The others should be along any minute; we might as well go into the house.”

  Carrie followed him through the front door into a large foyer tiled in deep red terrazzo and scattered with bright wool rugs in warm earth tones. The living room and dining room ran off to the right, and the bedroom wing was to the left. The kitchen and its attached recreation room were directly in front of them at the back of the house. Sliding glass doors leading to a patio bisected the dining area of the kitchen and the den, which featured a full wall fireplace in red brick and a built-in bar. The children streamed around them, heading for the food which was displayed on the drop leaf maple table. Rose, a slim, attractive woman in her late forties, handed out the drinks and napkins as the kids helped themselves to the goodies. Johnny claimed his father’s attention and Carrie was standing aside, watching the kids to make sure they behaved, when Mrs. Grasso approached her. She was a thirtyish divorcee with a son in Carrie’s section, and Carrie had noticed her eyeing their host while the other class mother supervised the consumption of the peanut butter delights.

  “Is there a Mrs. McClain?” Mrs. Grasso asked, having deduced that Rose was not the lady in question.

  “Mr. McClain is a widower,” Carrie replied stiffly. “His wife died in an accident two years ago.”

  “Oh, I see.” Hardly pausing to draw breath Mrs. Grasso excused herself and bolted for McClain, leaving a trail of smoke in her wake. Stationed behind her glass of orange juice Carrie watched as Mrs. Grasso, a seasoned campaigner, zeroed in on her quarry. Although Carrie couldn’t hear the conversation it was clear that Mrs. Grasso was gushing madly, batting her eyelashes and fluttering her hands enough to create her own breeze. The juice turned to acid in Carrie’s mouth as she watched the woman flirt outrageously. She made a mental note to be more careful about her choice of class mothers in the future.

  Carrie was distracted for a moment by one of her students, and when she looked back it was clear that Mrs. Grasso was getting nowhere. Carrie was ashamed of the perverse satisfaction it gave her to witness McClain’s polite disinterest. He nodded and answered questions briefly, his eyes roaming over the crowd. When his gaze settled on Carrie he said something to the deflated Mrs. Grasso and moved across the room.

  “Refill on the O.J.?” he said, pointing to Carrie’s empty glass.

  Carrie smiled and shook her head. “You know, I really have to thank you for all of this. The kids will be talking about it for weeks and Johnny is really blossoming.”

  “I know,” McClain replied. “He just asked me if he could bring one of the boys home someday after school next week. To give him riding lessons.” McClain grinned.

  “Which boy?”

  “Mark something. A tall kid with curly black hair.”

  Carrie coughed delicately. “You may not be so happy about this development after Mark gets here. He’s something of a legend at Grovedale. Last year he held the third grade record for the most detentions served. Those two together should be quite a team.”

  McClain laughed. “And I thought Johnny was your worst behavioral problem.”

  “Oh, Mark isn’t really a behavioral problem. He’s just gregarious and talks constantly. I recommend earplugs for the duration of his visit.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Johnny came bounding up to his father, his fair skin flushed with triumph. “Dad, can I show Mark and Jenny the snowmobile out in the garage? I told them we could ride it after the first storm.”

  “I’ll have that to look forward to also,” McClain said in aside to Carrie. To his son he said, “All right, John, but make it fast. Your class will be leaving soon.”

  “Okay, Dad,” the boy replied, handing his father his half empty glass and dashing for the door. Jenny and Mark fell in behind him with Mrs. Grasso on their heels.

  “You can see what this socializing is doing for Johnny,” Carrie said, looking after him. “He still has a way to go but he’s making a great start.”

  “I can see what you’re doing for Johnny,” McClain replied softly, looking down into her eyes.

  “He’s such a beautiful boy,” Carrie said inanely, trying to steer the conversation toward the impersonal.

  The remark didn’t have the desired effect on McClain. He glanced away, taking a sip of his son’s juice. “He looks just like his mother,” he said flatly.

  “She must have been very beautiful,” Carrie said unhappily, wishing she hadn’t brought up the subject.

  “Oh, yes, she was beautiful,” McClain answered. His tone held a note of irony she didn’t understand.

  “How painful for you to have to see her in your son. But I suppose that it brings you joy as well.”

  “It is painful,” McClain replied, referring only to the first part of her statement. Carrie stared up at him, confused, unable to read his impassive face.

  “Don’t you think we’d better round the kids up?” Mrs. Grasso said into her ear. McClain turned away.

  Carrie glanced at her watch. “Yes, you’re right.” She walked over to the table, which now looked like the aftermath of a Roman orgy and announced, “Come on, gang, let’s clean up this mess. The bus will be back for us any minute.”

  A universal groan went up from the gathering. Grumbling but obedient, the children dutifully tossed their paper plates and cups into the trash. Like a platoon of little soldiers, they went to the door and formed two lines as they did at school.

  “You have them trained,” Rose said admiringly to Carrie as the two women disposed of the last crumbs. “The marines could use you.”

  Carrie laughed. “Believe me, it’s necessary. Before we learn long division we learn the fine art of orderly assembly.”

  She was aware of McClain’s presence on the lawn as the children filed out and into the waiting bus. She said goodbye to Rose, thanking her for her help, and then turned to Johnny’s father.

  “They’ve all had a wonderful time,” she said to him.

  “And you? Did you have a wonderful time?” he asked seriously, his expression intent, as if her answer mattered a great deal.

  “Yes, of course. Thanks again. I’ll be in touch about Johnny.” She turned to go.

  “Wait.”

  It was a single word but it stopped her in her tracks. She faced him and her expression changed when she saw his eyes: searching, inquisitive. They looked at one another in silence. Finally Carrie said, “Was there something else?”

  The light went out of his eyes and he looked down. “No, I guess not. Thanks for coming out here. We enjoyed it too.”

  So they were back to bland politesse. Carrie felt her hope draining away. What else had she expected?

  She boarded the bus and told the driver to go. The last thing she saw was Jason McClain looking after them, with his son standing at his side.

  * * * *

  The Thursday of the week following the trip to the McClain ranch Johnny was absent. Carrie didn’t think much of it; he’d never missed a day before but everybody got sick sometime.

  At lunch that day she found a note in her mailbox asking her to stop in to see the principal after school. She sighed. What earthshaking crisis was it this time? Was she missing two textbooks or fifty cents from her Unicef money?

  Carrie presented herself at the designated time, and for once Mr. Dunphy wasn’t on the phone or buried in paperwork. He motioned her to take a seat, saying, “Good, Carrie. I’m glad to see you. I want to discuss a problem that came up today. The McClain boy has been hurt.”

  Chapter 2

  Carrie dropped into her chair a little more heavily than she had planned. Seeing her expression, Dunphy waved his hand dismissively.

  “Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious. He took a fall while jumping his horse and broke a leg. He’s in the hospital now but should be going home in a few days.”

  Carrie released the breath she’d been holding.

  “Now here’s the thing,” Dunphy went on. “The boy won’t be back at schoo
l for a month or so; he has to remain in traction. They can set up a hospital bed in his house but he will require home tutorial.”

  Carrie said nothing, waiting.

  “Now you know that in cases like this we usually appoint one of the tutors from the service to handle it, getting the assignments and the work schedule from you. The issue is I’ve just spoken to the father, and he insists that you do the home tutoring.”

  Carrie sat forward.

  “Of course, it’s up to you; you can’t be forced into this extra duty. If you refuse we’ll have to assign one of the tutors. If you accept, you’ll be compensated at the hourly rate and reimbursed for gas and so on. Actually, I wouldn’t even bring it up but the father was most emphatic. He says the child is very attached to you and wouldn’t adjust well to a new person. Ordinarily I would disregard such idiosyncrasies, but the McClain boy has been such a problem in the past and recently he has settled down in your section.” He paused meaningfully.

  “It’s all right, Mr. Dunphy. I’ll do it.”

  “Really? You do realize that it will involve two or three trips a week out to the boy’s home.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “Well, that’s just fine. I’m glad it’s settled. Will you call the father or shall I?”

  “I’ll call him.”

  “Wonderful. Doris will give you the forms you need to keep track of your hours and the vouchers you’ll submit for payment.”

  Carrie stood. “I’ll pick them up right now.”

  Dunphy’s phone buzzed and he waved Carrie out as he lifted the receiver, glad to have arranged the matter with so little fuss. Carrie walked into the hall and leaned against the wall, hugging her arms to her chest.

  She was going to see him. She was going to see him two or three times a week! Then she thought about Johnny’s broken leg and her smile vanished. But as she hurried down to her room, it crept back into place again.

  * * * *

  Jason glanced at the clock and ran his hands through his hair. Again. Carrie Maxwell was due for her first session in about ten minutes and time was passing with impossible slowness. He wandered down the hall to his son’s room, where Johnny was reading Misty of Chincoteague and eating a turkey sandwich Rose had left for him.

  “Relax, Dad,” the boy said, when he saw his father lurking in the doorway. “She already saw the house. She’s not going to think we camp out on the floor or have bed sheets on the windows.”

  Jason threw his offspring a dirty look.

  “Want a bite?” Johnny asked, extending half of his sandwich.

  Jason looked at it as if it were a snake. “No, thanks.”

  Johnny gestured at his left leg, encased in plaster and elevated by a pulley attached to the frame of his bed. “Think Miss Maxwell will sign my cast?” he asked.

  “I’d worry about the multiplication tables first, John. You still haven’t mastered the twelves,” Jason replied dryly.

  “She’ll sign it,” the boy announced confidently. “She’s a good sport. She hit a home run in the back- to-school game last month.”

  “She did?” Jason asked, obviously delighted by this piece of information.

  “Sure. She doesn’t run like a girl, either. She really went for it. The bases were smokin’, Mr. Coster said.”

  “Who’s Mr. Coster?” Jason asked suspiciously, picturing a young, muscular Adonis in the phys ed department.

  “The art teacher, Dad,” Johnny replied, exasperated. “You met him at parent’s night, remember?”

  “Oh, right.” Coster was middle aged and married—no threat. “I think I’ll go check the casserole.”

  “You checked it already, Dad. All you have to do is turn it off at five o’clock. That’s what Rose said.” But his father had left. Johnny shook his head and went back to his book.

  Jason went into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. He was wearing his usual cords with a navy crew neck sweater. What does she see? he wondered. What does she think about me? He closed his eyes and erased the image in the glass. Ever since her visit to the ranch with the class he had wanted to call her. But he was sure the school had rules about teachers dating parents, and even if they didn’t, he had a feeling that Miss Maxwell was far too ethical to do anything questionable. So when Johnny broke his leg, he had dismissed his misgivings about using his son’s accident to maintain contact with her. The boy actually had insisted that Miss Maxwell tutor him, but Jason had made no effort to dissuade him and had carried his plea to the principal.

  Jason opened his eyes and stared at the tiles on the floor, tiles Louise had picked. Was he looking for more heartbreak? Carrie didn’t seem like Louise, but she was so young and appearances could be deceiving. Louise had acted sweet too, in the beginning. He thought there was a difference between the two women, a difference he hoped he wasn’t imagining.

  He was so wary now, so cautious; that caution had isolated him for too long, and he was startled to find himself attracted so powerfully to a slight wisp of a girl barely two years out of college. But sophistication held no charm for him these days; he found Miss Maxwell’s innocence enormously appealing. She was as transparent as water. When he’d remarked on his son’s resemblance to his dead mother, she had looked stricken, sorry to have reminded him of his loss. And even for the sake of pleasant conversation he hadn’t been able to lie to her. There was no joy in the memory, only pain, and he had said so. Then she’d become confused, her fine brows drawing together as she wondered how to respond. He had wanted to kiss away her anxious expression and replace it with one of passion.

  He blinked and glanced at his watch. She was due any second. He realized that he had to be cool and reserved in this situation and wondered how he was going to accomplish that feat. He remembered the feel of her slender waist under his hands as he lifted her down from the horse. Her perfume, a subtle blending of musk rose, had seemed to drift from her skin and hair, enveloping him in its scent. He’d been fully aroused in an instant but had released her before she could become aware of it. The incident served as a warning: she could penetrate his defenses without even trying.

  The doorbell disturbed his reverie.

  “That’s Miss Maxwell,” Johnny called from his bedroom.

  Jason smiled to himself as he went to answer the door. His son was enjoying all this special consideration, and it greatly diminished his disappointment at missing the midget soccer season.

  “You’re right on time,” he greeted his visitor, who stood on the welcome mat, clutching a pile of books in her arms. She looked about seventeen, a high school junior on her way to trig class.

  “How’s Johnny?” she asked, as she entered and let him take her coat. She was wearing a cherry sweater dress that set her skin aglow.

  “Chafing at the bit and waiting for you. I don’t envy you the task. I’ve already exhausted my repertoire of card tricks and chess moves. I hope you’ve brought something to keep him busy.”

  “I certainly have. Where’s the patient?”

  “Right this way,” Jason replied, showing her to Johnny’s door. She glanced in at the hospital bed and stopped on the threshold.

  “Well, look at you. I always said you’d do anything to get attention,” she said severely.

  Johnny grinned at her. “Hi, Miss Maxwell. Do you miss me at school?”

  “Terribly. The new hall monitor doesn’t even take notes. And no one can figure out the recess schedule since you left. We’ve been having an awful time, really.”

  Jason closed the door behind Carrie as she entered his son’s room and then he went back down the hall. Those two obviously did not need him.

  Carrie was closeted with her student for two hours while Jason did his accounts at the dining room table. He could hear the low murmur of voices and an occasional burst of laughter as he totaled columns of figures with his calculator. He got up once to turn off the casserole in the oven and get himself a drink, but for the most part he was as busy as they were. It gave him a curi
ous feeling to realize that the presence of Johnny’s teacher comforted him. He liked having her in the house, knowing that she was just down the hall. It was something he didn’t analyze too closely but accepted as fact.

  Just before six his son’s door opened and Carrie emerged. Television noises followed her out as she paused in the doorway and smiled at him.

  “All caught up,” she announced. “He worked very hard today.”

  “He’s watching television now?”

  “Yes, I promised we’d be finished by six so he could watch the rerun of Family. He’s waiting for it to start.”

  “He loves that show,” Jason mused softly. “I think he sees in it what he lacks: concerned parents, loving siblings.”

  “You’re a concerned parent,” Carrie answered, touched by the sadness that crossed his face as he spoke.

  “I try to be,” he responded, not looking at her.

  “It must be difficult for him to stay still like that,” Carrie said quickly, eager to change the subject. “He’s such an active child.”

  Jason nodded. “I hope I won’t have to tie him to the bed.” He gestured to the adjoining kitchen. “You must be hungry. Would you like something to eat? Rose left dinner for us.”

  “Oh, no, thank you,” Carrie answered, not wanting to impose.

  “Coffee then?” he persisted, watching her face.

  She thought it would be rude to refuse an offer he so obviously wanted her to accept. “That would be lovely.”

  They went together into the kitchen, and Carrie stood awkwardly as he plugged in the pot Rose had left ready. He glanced around at her and noticed her posture: feet together, hands folded at her waist.

  “Please, sit down,” he said, cursing himself for forgetting to pull out her chair as she obeyed him. She’s as tense as I am, he thought. We’re both as nervous as jugglers. What did it mean?

  Jason joined her at the table as the coffee began to percolate and they looked at one another. Jason cleared his throat.

  “So, do you think this arrangement will work out?” he asked, nodding toward the back of the house.