“English!”Billie made a gagging noise.“The worst.You should see the books she’s always trying to get me to read.”
“You only like stories with blood and killing.That’s not literature or even suited for children.There are lots of classics that—” She stopped and shrugged.“It’s an old argument.”
“Who’s winning?”Adam asked.
Jane smiled at her daughter and pulled on the bill of her cap.“She is, but I’m determined to hang in there.”
“You never told me you wanted to be a teacher.”
She searched his face.The familiar lines, high cheekbones, strong, square jaw, hadn’t changed much.He’d been a man when she’d left.He would find differences in her though: the last time he’d seen her, she’d only been a girl.Legally a woman, but at heart, emotionally, still very young.Time had changed her, both inside and out.
“I did.Several times.You didn’t listen.”
The lines of the jaw she’d been admiring tightened with her words.Fire flashed in his brown eyes.A wavy lock of hair fell over his forehead, the only wayward thing about him.“I listened.You were the one who—”
He stopped and looked at Billie.Her daughter stood openmouthed.
“Who what?”Billie asked.
He shook his head, withdrawing from the heated conversation.“It doesn’t matter.The repairmen have been fixing up the house for weeks.I’m sure you’ll be pleased with their work.”
Who what?Jane asked silently, repeating her daughter’s question.Left?She’d admit to that.Left badly?Ditto.To understand why, he might do well to look to himself.
“Everything looks terrific,” she said.Billie tossed her the softball.She caught it, then threw it back.“The upstairs bathrooms have been remodeled.”
“That was a couple of years ago,” he said.
Part of her marveled at the surface calm of their conversation.She wanted him to say something, do something, not just stand there like a polite acquaintance.He would have gone on with his life, might even have forgiven her, but forgotten—no way.Neitherof them had.So he would pretend it didn’t matter, and she would pretend not to feel guilty.A fair exchange, she thought.Except for one small eight-year-old problem.
“It’s been great to see you, Adam,” she said, ready to make her escape.“Billie and I have to get to town.It’s late and the furniture company swore they’d be delivering today.If they’re not, we have to make other arrangements.”
He glanced at his watch.“The office will be closed.”
“The headquarters are on the West Coast.They’ll still be open.”
“Uhh, Mom?”Billie stared at the ground and shuffled her feet.That didn’t signal good news.
“What have you lost, forgotten or broken now?”
“A window.”
Jane thought about the small amount of money they had to last them the summer.She wouldn’t start teaching until September and her first paycheck wasn’t due until almost the end of that month.Please, God, let the window be a small one, she thought as she turned to face her house.Maybe they could board it up for a few months.If it was on the side that faced Adam’s yard, all the better.
“Where?”
“There.”
But Billie wasn’t pointing in their yard.Instead her small tanned arm thrust up toward the front of Adam’s house.
“No,” Jane said.“Not—”
“Yup.I was playing ball and it got away from me.”
She glanced at Adam.He was studying her with that damned inscrutable expression of his.“All those times I ignored my mother when she told me to act like a lady are being paid back in spades.Sorry.”
“No harm done,” he said.“Except for the glass, of course.”
“Of course.”Was he making a joke?The great Adam Barrington risking humor?That wasn’t fair, she reminded herself.He’d always been witty and charming.She’d been the one out of her element.
