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“Just ignore him,” Doreen said, dismissing him with a wave. “He always gets delusional when he’s irritated. The truth is, my Roger could whip this boy thirty years ago, and he still can today.” She laughed when Rachel threw her a confused glance. “My husband and I were friends with Adam’s parents,” she explained. “These days, I’m kind of a second mother to him.”
Doreen seemed like a genuinely warm person, and Rachel felt herself relaxing. “He’s lucky to have two mothers,” she bantered back. “A man needs all the sound advice he can get.”
A silence fell as quickly as a late-summer fog, and Adam’s face paled.
What did I say? Rachel thought. She looked at the older woman for guidance, but Doreen’s unsmiling face was as sober as Adam’s.
“I’ll let you two get down to business,” Doreen said quietly. Then, just as quickly as it had faded, her smile reappeared, as welcoming as the sun breaking through a cloud. “Good luck, dear. I’m rooting for you.”
“I’m sorry about your mother,” Rachel said after Doreen had shut the door behind her. “How long has she been gone?”
“My mother is not gone. And she’s not going anywhere, now or for a long time to come.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Wessler,” Rachel apologized again. “I just assumed—”
“Adam,” he corrected. “Call me Adam. I, for one, would like to go back to the time when employees addressed their superiors as Mr. or Mrs. Unfortunately those days are gone.”
He was pompous, all right. If his ego were any more bloated, he could run for king. And what was this thing about his mother? Evidently the well-composed Adam Wessler had issues. Issues the P.I. had overlooked. Which was odd, she thought, considering how detailed the P.I. had made his report. Several pages described Megan’s life—school, hobbies, friends—right down to her favorite flavor of soda. More pages contained similar information about Adam, although, Rachel conceded, his favorite flavor of soda was more than she wanted or needed to know.
“Ms.,” she said curtly.
“Excuse me?”
“The appropriate term is Ms. There’s no legal basis for an employer to know a prospective employee’s marital status.” She knew she was treading close to the line—he had the power to make or break her future—but, oh, he was so infuriating!
“Ms. Hartwell, let me assure you I don’t give a hoot about your marital status. I was merely trying to point out that it is perfectly fine for you to address me by my first name. In fact, it’s preferred. One of the center’s main goals is to reflect the community, and that includes its values. You know what I mean—apple pie, babies in strollers, Boy Scouts helping elderly women cross the street. One big happy family. It’s the kind of Pollyanna image we’re trying to promote.”
“I take it you don’t agree with this philosophy?”
He looked vexed. “It’s of no importance whether or not I agree. Now, shall we get started, Ms. Hartwell?”
“Rachel,” she corrected. “One big happy family, remember?”
He looked at her sternly for one hard moment, and then an unexpected grin washed across his face, catching her off guard.
She drew in a sharp breath. His whole austere demeanor had vanished, just like that. How could something as simple as a smile, just two lips curling up at the corners, completely transform a face?
And it was such a charming smile. He looked almost boyish, completely unlike the photographs back in her room at the inn.
This time he was the one to extend a hand. “What do you say we start again? I’m Adam Wessler, the arrogant, obnoxious director of this wonderful new establishment.”
“Rachel Hartwell,” she answered back, returning his handshake. She’d once read that a handshake told a lot about a person’s character. His was warm…protective…
She realized she had been holding on too tightly, and feeling the color rise in her face, tore her hand away. “You’re not that obnoxious,” she joked in an attempt to hide her embarrassment.
He let out a hearty roar. “Finally we’re agreed on something. Have a seat, Rachel Hartwell, and we’ll get down to business. Sorry about the folding chairs. As you can see, not all the furniture has arrived yet.” He sat down beside her. “Why don’t you start by telling me a little about yourself?”
“You don’t have my résumé? I have extras. Here, let me—”
He picked up a sheet of paper from his desk. “I have your résumé. I know what it says. I want you to tell me something I don’t know. Something about the kind of person you are. It’s not such an unreasonable request.”
What could she tell him that wasn’t on her résumé? After years of working and studying she’d finally earned her degree, and since then she’d been teaching at a private school in Hartford. Her résumé also described her active involvement in musical and children’s theater. Wasn’t she what a community-based job required? A well-rounded, involved person? What else did he need to know? “I don’t understand,” she said with trepidation.
No longer smiling, he said, “I’ll give you a hint. You can start by telling me why you want to teach here.”
“I’ve always loved kids,” she began slowly. “And musical theater. So it was only natural that I would want to pursue a career that involved both.” When he didn’t respond, she felt her panic rising. What could she say that wouldn’t give away her secret? She had to think of something. She had to land this job. And then she remembered the winter scene hanging on the wall in the corridor. The painting wasn’t only about the joys of childhood; it was about the joys of small-town living. “There’s something else.”
“And that is…?”
“I’m tired of the city. I find it too large, too impersonal. I want to live in a small, old-fashioned community. Like you said earlier, apple pie, that sort of thing. You know what I mean, where everyone knows everyone’s business.” As long as no one finds out mine, she thought.
“You seem to have developed a few notions,” he said testily. “It’s true that we’re a close-knit group, but we’re not a bunch of hicks. We nurture the same interest in the arts as do the larger cities, and we don’t take well to being patronized.”
“You don’t understand. I wasn’t—”
“Tell me what makes Rachel Hartwell tick.”
What was he getting at? What could she say that would persuade him to hire her? Then it dawned on her. He was talking about character. “I sent you a list of references. Didn’t you receive it with my résumé?”
None of the people on the list knew anything about her past. Equally important, the school where she taught was closed for the summer. She didn’t want anyone there to know she might not be returning. At this point it wouldn’t be wise to burn her bridges behind her. Eventually Adam would want to speak to someone regarding her most recent employment, but verification would have to wait until fall. By then, if everything went as planned, it wouldn’t matter.
But if her plan failed, she would return to Hartford. She couldn’t remain in Middlewood, knowing that Megan was so close yet so out of reach. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life looking around every corner, down every street, hoping to catch a glimpse of her daughter, living solely for those moments.
“You still don’t get it,” Adam said, his gaze boring into her. “I want you to tell me why I should give you this job. Give me one good, concrete reason.”
She tried to think of a reply that would please him yet be true to her ideals. “I know what it’s like to have a dream,” she said finally. “I also know what it’s like to have no one to help you nurture that dream. Some children want to be doctors, some firefighters. I wanted to be a skater—but competition was out of the question. Everyone knows how expensive that route is, and now, of course, I’m too old to compete. But if I can make a difference in someone’s life, if I can help a child realize his or her dream, then I’ll feel as if I’ve succeeded.”
The words she spoke were true. All her life she’d had a need to nurture. When she was small, she’d brought home every stray cat in the neighborhood, and when she was older, she’d gone out of her way to take the side of the underdog. Her mother used to chide her endlessly. “Lie down with dogs and you’ll get up with fleas,” she used to say.
“You realize that working here would mean a decrease in salary,” Adam said, glancing at her résumé. “This is a community center, not a private school.”
“I want to work in a more liberal environment,” she said honestly. She wasn’t thrilled about taking a cut in pay—paying rent on two apartments would be expensive and the months ahead would be lean—but she was looking forward to working in a more relaxed environment. She was tired of the senseless customs, the strict dress code, the arbitrary rules imposed by the school where she taught. “Besides,” she added, “there are benefits. For example, the arena. I still love skating, even though it’s no longer my life dream. And it’s not as rushed here in Middlewood as it is in the city.” This time she was careful not to use the term old-fashioned. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.
The interview wasn’t going as she expected. He was supposed to ask her a few perfunctory questions and get on with it, but the closed look on his face told her he didn’t buy what she was saying. Anyone with half a mind could see that she was perfect for the job. What was he getting at?
“Unfortunately, I don’t think this is going to work out,” he said.
Unfortunately? Was this what it all came down to? All her hopes crushed with one dismissive word? “I don’t understand. Won’t you just—”
“Do I look like Grace? Puh-leeze!”
A young girl with the brightest red hair Rachel had ever seen had barged into the office. “Will you puh-leeze inform Erika that I have no intention of playing Grace? What’s the matter with that woman? Can’t she see I’m meant to be Annie?”
In that moment reality merged with dream, and Rachel wasn’t sure if she’d just awakened or fallen asleep. The room around her blurred, and she had to blink to hold back tears that were threatening to steal from her eyes. Tears of joy at seeing her daughter. Tears of joy at hearing her voice.
Adam had asked for one good reason, a concrete reason. There she was, her hands on her hips, scowling in the doorway.
Chapter Two
If it weren’t for the hair, she would have sworn she was looking in a mirror, one that reflected what she had looked like at Megan’s age. She gripped the edge of her chair. Would anyone else notice?
How could anyone not notice?
Doreen had remarked earlier, “You look familiar. I don’t know you, do I?”
Rachel dismissed the comment from her mind. It had just been one of those things people said, as benign as “How are you?” or “Have a nice day.” How could Doreen—or Adam—know what Rachel had looked like at twelve years old?
“What is it, Megan?” Adam asked in an exasperated voice. “Can’t you see I’m in a meeting?”
Rachel tore her gaze from her daughter. From the tense lines on Adam’s face she could read the depth of his frustration. It was something, she was sure, that hadn’t started just now with Megan’s little scene. No, the troubles with his daughter had been going on for some time. Rachel was certain of something else as well, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Adam had not picked up on the resemblance between her and Megan. He looked frustrated, vexed, flustered—everything that seemed to go along with being the single parent of an adolescent girl—yet the likeness that was obvious to Rachel had apparently escaped his notice.
She turned her gaze back to Megan. It was hard to look at her without focusing on the wealth of deep red that curled in ringlets over her forehead and down her neck. Thank God for that hair, Rachel thought. It helped hide the resemblance. Rachel’s hair, framing her heart-shaped face and curving under her chin—the shape of face and dainty chin she had bequeathed to her daughter—was a rich brunette, totally unlike Megan’s. But even though the pictures the P.I. had sent were in black and white, even without the detailed description he had supplied, Rachel had known that her daughter was a redhead.
She thought back to when she was seventeen, wild and free, holding on to her boyfriend’s waist as she snuggled behind him on his motorcycle. She knew she should have worn a helmet—they both should have worn helmets—but wasn’t it wonderful riding behind him on his bike, feeling as free as a leaf in the breeze! In those days the word caution hadn’t been part of her vocabulary. As if it were yesterday, Rachel remembered the way the air had felt blowing on her face as she held on to Colton, watching the wind weave its playful fingers through his long, wavy hair.
Like Megan, his hair had been a deep fiery red.
She remembered the way the nurses had clucked after Megan was born, swearing they had never seen so much hair on a newborn. “The devil’s crown,” one insensitive nurse had said. “Heiress of sin.”
“But Dad, you’re always in a meeting!” Megan was complaining. “Anyway, this concerns business.” She turned her attention to Rachel. “Are you the new drama teacher? Because if you are, we need to get some things straight. First of all—”
“Megan!” Adam interrupted sharply. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“No, it’s all right, Mr. Wes…Adam. I’m interested in what your daughter has to say.”
Two suspicious green eyes—my eyes, Rachel thought—peered at her. “Oh, yeah?” Megan challenged. “Why?”
“Why?” Rachel repeated, blinking.
“What are you, deaf?”
“Megan!” Adam rose from his chair. “Can’t this wait until later?”
Rachel wanted to laugh. He sounded as if he was whining. The cool, collected Mr. Wessler was obviously putty around his daughter, who was, if this outburst was any indication, sorely lacking in manners. Oh yes, Adam Wessler needed all the help with Megan he could get.
“It’s all right,” Rachel assured him. “The question deserves an answer. And I’m not referring to her question regarding my hearing. You’d be surprised at how little escapes my ears, or eyes, too, for that matter.”
Megan was leaning against the wall, her arms folded across her chest as though she was a small child demanding a treat. Yet spoiled hardly described her, and Rachel sensed there was more to her attitude than just bad manners. This child, her child, was hurting, and Rachel ached to reach out and hold her.
“It’s too bad you have no intention of playing Grace,” she said. “She’s always been my favorite character in Annie. They named her Grace for a reason. And you remind me of her—you’re tall and slim, as pretty as a princess—and that’s why I’m interested in what you have to say.”
“I’m nothing like her!” Megan snapped. “Look at me. Look at this hair.” She tugged at a handful of curls as if to make her point. “What’s the use in having a father who’s running this whole place, if I can’t be the star? I can sing and dance every bit as well as that stupid Alice Tucker. Even better. I’m Annie! Why can’t anyone see that?”
“I’m envious of you,” Rachel said, choosing her words carefully. “I bet you don’t need to use any styling aids at all, and what I would give to have that color!”
Megan looked somewhat mollified. “There, you see, Dad? She agrees with me. She thinks I should be Annie.”
“I didn’t say that,” Rachel said, “although I’m sure you’d make a wonderful Annie. It’s a shame, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“I would have thought that someone as grown-up as you would feel a little silly in the role of Annie. I would have thought that Grace would be your first choice. She’s so beautiful and talented, and in the end, we get the idea that she’s going to marry the richest, most wonderful man in the world. To me Grace represents the heart in the story. Without her Annie would never have been united with Daddy Warbucks.”
“Annie is kind of childish,” Megan admitted. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should play Grace. She’s much more refined. Worldly, even. It would be more interesting to play someone mature, don’t you think?”
“I know it,” Rachel said. Worldly? Mature? The way Megan spoke now, you’d think she was eighteen, not twelve. In an instant her entire demeanor had changed from that of a pouting young child to a sophisticated young lady. Girls that age are like that, Rachel thought. One minute they’re taking out their old dolls; the next minute they’re asking for the keys to the car.
Megan was growing up fast. Too fast. Rachel had missed the first twelve years of her daughter’s life, and she was determined not to let another precious minute go by.
“What about my hair?” Megan asked. “I wouldn’t have to cut it, would I? What about the color?”
“You won’t have to change a thing. You could get a wig from wardrobe. There is a costume department, isn’t there?” She addressed her question to Adam.
“Of course there is. What kind of operation do you think I’m running?” His mouth pulled into a tight line. “Actually, there isn’t, not really. We’re still trying to negotiate deals with costume houses. In the meantime Doreen and Erika make frequent trips to the thrift shops.”
“Erika told us we have to bring our own costumes,” Megan said. “She told us to ask our mothers to make them.” She pulled herself on top of Adam’s desk and sat there, kicking her legs. “That was a stupid thing for her to say, don’t you think? Considering that at the moment I seem to be fresh out of mothers.”
No, you’re not, Rachel thought, her heart growing warm. It had taken a little reassuring on her part to convince Megan to take the role of Grace. Like all twelve-year-old girls—like most people—Megan needed to feel important. Wasn’t this what mothers did? Instill a sense of self-esteem in their daughters?
“I’m sure Erika didn’t mean anything by her comment,” Adam said. “And I’m sure that if you asked her, she’d be more than happy to make your costume.”
“Let me remind you, she’s not my mother.”
A warning signal went off in Rachel’s head. The P.I.’s report had mentioned that Adam was seeing someone but that it wasn’t serious. What if the report wasn’t accurate? What if Adam and this woman were keeping their relationship low-key for Megan’s sake? It was obvious that Megan disliked her.
“Besides,” Megan continued, “that woman wouldn’t know the difference between a needle and a haystack.”
It was a clever twist to the old adage, and Rachel laughed. “I’m handy with a needle and thread,” she volunteered. Hadn’t Megan said that the mothers were supposed to make the costumes? “But I wouldn’t know my way around a haystack if my life depended on it,” she added jokingly.
“Well, there are no haystacks in this center,” Adam said, and sat down again.
Even sitting, he was tall. In spite of his disheveled appearance, he had the air of someone used to getting his own way. Rachel studied his face. The photographs she’d received all made him appear hard and unyielding, but seeing him in person, she could tell there was something vulnerable about him. Something a little bit broken. She had an urge to soothe him.
Be careful, she warned herself. You’ve always been a sucker for a wounded animal. And where did it ever get you? First time around, you were left alone and pregnant. Second time around, you were simply left alone.
“Officially you start tomorrow, but I’d like to meet with you a little later today, say in about an hour, to go over the costume budget. I want you on thrift-shop duty, like the others. Before we meet, see Doreen. She has some forms you’ll need to fill out.” He leaned forward in his chair. “In the mornings you’ll be teaching musical theater, in the afternoons, improvisation. Classes start on Monday, so you’ll have today and Monday to get oriented. Erika Johnson is a wonderful drama coach, and she’s mapped out all the classes, so you need to meet with her. She’s directing Annie, which you’ll be helping out with as well. You’ll have a desk backstage for your paperwork. In the fall your hours will change. Classes and rehearsals will be held after school and in the evenings. Any questions?”
Adam talked so fast, she felt her head spinning. “I…don’t understand. What are you saying?”
Megan shook her head in mock disgust. “I think she is deaf, Dad. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
He ignored his daughter and flashed his boyish smile at Rachel. “I’m saying, Ms. Hartwell, that you’ve got the job.”
“Rachel,” she said smoothly, trying to conceal her elation. “Apple pie, remember?”
No matter how much he fiddled with the computer monitor, it wouldn’t light up. Dammit, he should be able to figure out this contraption. The problem with technology was that as soon as you got something all figured out, it was already obsolete.
Adam was the first to admit he wasn’t too fond of change.
