Smoky Mountain Reunion. Lynnette Kent
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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