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“I have help,” Maya went on. “An elementary school teacher overheard my conundrum and stepped in.”
“Oh? Why does she want to help so much?” Phoebe sounded wary.
“I don’t think he’s after my inheritance or anything,” Maya said.
“Oh! A male elementary school teacher. How intriguing.”
Maya rolled her eyes as her lips twisted into a smile. She was glad Phoebe couldn’t see her; she would have called her out. “He’s a friend of the lawyer. Just a helpful guy. Community-minded, you know.”
“Well, keep me updated,” Phoebe urged. After a small pause, she added, “You sound happy, Mom. Just so you know.”
Maya’s heartbeat quickened. “I don’t always feel very happy,” she said. “But getting out of the city was a good thing. At least for now.”
For a little while, Maya sat in the living room with Tom, typing the first draft of an article for “A Taste Above The Rest.” She wanted to capture the iconic flavors of this little town, and the pork chop dinner from last night and today’s croissant, camembert, and jam were perfect jumping-off points. Occasionally, Tom interrupted her to tell her things he’d learned about the town on his deep dive to find Sarah.
“You said your aunt’s name is Veronica Albright?”
“That’s right.”
Tom raised both eyebrows. “That family is rich with a capital R.”
Maya cackled and set her laptop aside. Tom whipped his around to show an old photograph of Veronica. Maya was caught off-guard. She’d never seen her before. Remarkably, Veronica looked a little bit like Maya, with her big brown eyes, her dark hair, and her high cheekbones. The associated article had been written twenty-five years ago, and it discussed Veronica’s recent divorce from a hedge fund manager. She’d forced him to sign a prenup. Because he’d cheated on her, the article stated he would get nothing.
“Wow,” Maya breathed. “She sounds scary.”
“I don’t know,” Tom said, shaking his head. “In another article, it says she worked as an elementary school teacher at Hollygrove Elementary for ten years.”
“Really?”
“Crazy, right? She never had to work a day in her life. But she’s quoted as saying, ‘The young people are our future. I want to be a part of shaping that future.’”
Maya furrowed her brow. Maya had been away in Pennsylvania— penniless, sleeping in a bedroom with an adoptive sister who’d hated her and frequently complained that Maya made their lives more difficult. “You’re the reason we get fewer Christmas presents,” she’d said. “You’re the reason we don’t have as much to eat.” Why hadn’t Aunt Veronica thought to “shape the future” with Maya by her side?
Maya suddenly noticed the time and popped up. “I have to run,” she said. “That Christmas Festival won’t plan itself.”
“Yeah, Maya! Go get that inheritance!” Tom said, clapping his hands.
Maya laughed, grabbed her coat, gloves, and hat and sped out the door. The elementary school was just five blocks away— in a town where everything seemed so close— and as she strode, she caught herself admiring the Christmas lights, the thick wreaths, and the Christmas trees that filled nearly every window. It was three-thirty, and the light was already dimming. Gray clouds hovered low, and snowflakes peppered the air.
When Maya reached the elementary school, there was a line of big yellow buses out front. Brad was on the sidewalk, making sure the rest of the students boarded safely. He bent to speak to each of them individually, giving them the respect of looking them in the eye. Maya stopped short on the sidewalk, only about fifteen feet away from him, and admired him at work. It struck her, again, that he was too handsome for such a small town, that he was too good to while away at a little elementary school like this, teaching kids. But then again, wasn’t this exactly the kind of man who should have been leading the next generation? He didn’t think of himself as “too good” to lend each of the children his ear.
Brad caught her eye and waved, and Maya’s stomach tied into knots. It was too late to turn back. She hurried toward him and waved timidly just as another teacher swept across the sidewalk and tapped on Brad’s shoulder. Brad flinched and turned to look at her. The other teacher spoke quietly so that Brad had to bend down to hear. Maya stalled and took stock of this woman, of her beautiful, heart-shaped face and blond hair. She had a gorgeous figure, probably from Pilates or yoga, and she gazed at Brad adoringly. Was this the woman he was dating? It made sense. Teachers often dated teachers.
“Maya, hello!” Brad half-interrupted the female teacher. “Welcome to Hollygrove Elementary.”
“Hey!” Maya’s voice wavered.
“Brad, who’s your friend?”
Brad kept his smile professional. “Ms. Michaels, this is Maya. She’s brand-new to Hollygrove.”
“You can call me Rainey.”
Maya shook Rainey’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“And you!” Rainey’s smile was enormous; she looked like an ex-cheerleader. “What brings you to Hollygrove?”
“I have to plan the Christmas Festival,” Maya said with a shrug. “It’s a long story.”
