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“What is it?”
“Oh, just the usual, I guess. We grew apart—”
“The name,” Ms. Lindon barked. “What is the name?”
She knew damn well that Grace had married Michael Bowes. Everyone did. There were no secrets in this sardine can of a town. But even if she didn’t know the name, there weren’t enough unemployed people in Blue Moon Bay during the summer to fill two lines of the daybook, much less an entire day, so she could have figured it out. For Pete’s sake, Grace could see it was all right there on the page, with just a little doodle of a dog in the corner and some scribbling around the middle of the page. And her name under 11:00—Grace Bowes.
Ms. Lindon looked too long at the page before tapping the scribbled line in the middle and saying, “There it is. You were supposed to be here at eleven, not ten past. Rule number one, Always be on time. Bayside Girls are always professional.”
Bayside Girls? A pang of dread reverberated in the depths of Grace’s heart. It was still 1952 here in Blue Moon Bay, just as it had always been. This was going to be hard to get used to after all those years up north.
She took a deep breath and remembered Jimmy. “Of course. I’m sorry.”
“Have a seat.” The Egg Beater gestured and waited for Grace to obey, then took out a pen and steno pad that still had the bargain-store price tag stuck to the front. “Now, tell me about your skills.”
Grace thought she was prepared for that question. “Let’s see, I’ve spent the past nine years chairing the annual Bingham Industrialists Golf Tournament.” The pen remained poised over the pad but did not touch it, Grace noticed. “I also organized and edited the Bingham Junior League cookbook in 1996, 1997 and 1999.”
After a painful pause, Ms. Lindon said, “I mean, what kind of marketable qualifications do you have? How fast can you type?”
Grace smiled brilliantly. “Typing isn’t really my strong suit….”
Ms. Lindon looked at her with flat eyes. “Computer skills?”
Grace wondered if her old Atari Pong game qualified. “None to speak of but—”
Ms. Lindon dropped her pen and leaned back in her chair, appraising Grace with a cool eye. “I’m afraid we don’t have anything that suits your particular…expertise.”
The blood that had drained moments earlier began to rise in Grace’s face. “I’m willing to learn,” she said, trying to keep the desperate edge out of her voice.
Something in the older woman seemed to soften. She picked up a large portfolio marked Positions to Fill in a handwriting Grace remembered from her old report cards—Grace needs to learn that she has to work for her grades instead of expecting everything to be handed to her on a silver platter—and leafed through it.
She shook her head. “Mmm. No, it’s as I thought. All of these jobs require the latest computer skills and good typing speed, not to mention experience. Wait—here’s one that will train you—” She squinted and looked closer. “Oh, no. That’s no good.” She clopped the book shut. “I’m sorry. I don’t have anything for you now. Maybe if you take a secretarial class and come back, we can help you at a later time.”
Grace refused to give up so easily, even though half of her wanted to concede. “You just said there was one that didn’t require experience.”
Ms. Lindon smirked. “No, that was definitely not for you.”
Grace leaned forward in her seat. “Ms. Lindon, I really, really need a job. Any job.” She hated to beg the help of a woman who clearly wouldn’t share a canteen of water with Grace even if her clothes burst into flames, but she had no choice. “I’m broke.”
The other woman shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I am sorry for your misfortune, but—”
“I don’t want your pity.” Grace swallowed hard. “I’m not here asking for favors. I have a ten-year-old son to take care of now. I need the work. Please, Ms. Lindon—” she reached out and touched the older woman’s hand “—please tell me what you have.”
A long moment passed, during which Grace wondered if Ms. Lindon would let that tennis ball fall in her court or if she’d just lob it back at Grace by the sheer force of impatience. “All right,” she said at last. “But I don’t think you’re going to like it.”
Grace tried to keep calm. “What have you got?”
“It’s at Connor Primary Day School. You know, over on Bayshore Drive?”
Grace nodded, feeling a dull ache grow rapidly in her chest. Dread. Another shoe was going to drop any minute, she knew it, and it would be a size-fourteen stiletto. “I went to school there.”
Ms. Lindon gave her a look of slight skepticism but didn’t say anything. “Well. You may be able to work tuition for your kid into the deal if you get the job. There’s one perk anyway.”
That didn’t sound so bad. She’d kind of like Jimmy to go to the same school she went to, if only briefly. “Really? So what do they need?” She tried to imagine what job Ms. Lindon thought Grace wouldn’t like. “Playground assistant?” she asked, to let the other woman know she was willing to take that kind of job. “After-school care?”
“Bus driver.”
Grace felt as if she’d missed the bottom step of a very steep staircase and fallen flat on her face. “I beg your pardon?”
“They need a bus driver.”
That was it, the other shoe she’d been waiting for. There was a moment’s silence while the news bounced around the room and into Grace’s consciousness.
“If you’re willing to do it, I can call and set up an interview.”
“But a bus driver?” Grace was still back at square one. Visions of meaty tattooed arms and screaming kids came to mind. “But I don’t know anything about driving a bus.”
Ms. Lindon shrugged. “It says here that they’ll train the right person.”
Grace shifted her weight in her seat, which had suddenly become extremely uncomfortable. “Are you sure there’s nothing else?”
“Nothing.” She pushed the book aside. “You’re clearly not suited for that kind of position, though.”
“But—”
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll keep a special eye out for anything that might work for you and I’ll call you immediately if I see something.” She started to stand up.
“Wait.” Grace put a hand up. “How much does it pay? The bus-driver position, I mean.”
Ms. Lindon looked in the book and quoted a figure.
Grace did some quick calculations and said, “That could work. I could survive on that pay.” She’d carefully budgeted what she needed to save each month in order to be able to move back north in one year. This salary would cover that and leave a little over at the end of the month for incidentals. It would be a strenuously budgeted life, but it would be temporary. “I’ll take it.”
“That’s only if they hire you, of course.”
There was that knot in the pit of her stomach again. “Do you think they won’t?”
“I don’t suppose you’ve ever driven a bus before?”
“No.” Of course not.
The older woman shrugged. “Might not matter. It does say they’ll train. You’d have to interview first, of course. I can only refer you. Whether or not they hire you depends on how that interview goes.” She hesitated before adding, “If you really want to try it.”
“I do.” Grace took a slow breath. She wasn’t going to get sidetracked into a discussion about whether or not she knew what she was saying. “You mentioned there’s a tuition benefit for my son?”
“Says so here. You can talk to Mr. Stewart about that more if you interview.”
Grace noticed that if. “Okay, set up an interview.” She straightened and brushed a fly off the front of her dove-gray Armani suit. She’d bought it in Milan two years ago. Things were different then. “I’ll be a bus driver.”
Chapter Two
The familiarity of the Connor Primary Day School campus was disconcerting to Grace. It was as if nothing had changed in the twenty-some years since she’d attended, except that the trees were a little taller and the buildings looked a little smaller. Hope mingled with melancholy as she parked the car and got out to walk to the old red barn where the garage was located. Was it merely familiarity that was making Grace’s stomach flutter this way, or was it a premonition that she would get the job and everything would—eventually—be all right?
Having always been an optimist, she decided to believe the latter.
The office door was shut when she reached it, and for one terrible moment she feared that Ms. Lindon had sent her on a wild-goose chase. Grace had been so insistent about interviewing for the job that maybe the woman had just sent her out here to get rid of her. Her fear was exacerbated when she knocked and there was no answer. Within a few seconds, she’d almost convinced herself that there wasn’t even anyone here when a movement behind the old mottled-glass door caught her eye. Someone was here. Ms. Lindon wasn’t that mean—Grace had just let her imagination get carried away. She took a quick breath to bolster her nerve and knocked again, more firmly. A voice called out something inside, but she couldn’t understand what it said. Come on in? Or maybe Go away! Or even Get help, fast, I’m being held at gunpoint!
Now what was she supposed to do?
Deciding it was better to go forward with confidence than to appear timid, she opened the door and poked her head in, surprised to find she was so blinded by the sun outside that she couldn’t see in the dark, cool office. “Mr. Stewart?”
“That’s right. What can I do for you?” The man’s voice was nice. Smooth and kind, and she felt herself relax when it reached her.
She stepped in from the heat and said, in the general direction of the voice, since her eyes hadn’t yet adjusted to the light, “I have an appointment to interview with you. About the job opening here.”
There was an uncomfortable moment of silence while the splotchy figure across the room sat unmoving. Just as he was beginning to come into view, he said, in a voice she was suddenly able to place with absolute clarity, “Grace?”
Her stomach dropped. She imagined it plunking on the ground next to her and bouncing like an india-rubber ball. She blinked hard, and within a few seconds her vision came back to normal.
She almost wished it hadn’t.
There, before her, was a face she’d envisioned a million times over the years, a face she’d never thought she’d see again. A little older, of course, but the same golden tanned skin, now with a faint web of lines around the clear blue eyes. Same dark wavy hair that, in contrast, had always made those eyes absolutely striking. She’d always reacted physically to them, and to the charismatic man they belonged to.
Luke Stewart.
Grace couldn’t have been more surprised to see him if he’d been lassoing steer in her mother’s backyard. God almighty, she’d never dreamed Luke was the Mr. Stewart she was supposed to see. She didn’t even know he was still in town. Not only in town, but here, not ten feet away from her, behind a desk that was piled with papers, the odd piece of horse tack and quite possibly control of her future.
It seemed like twenty minutes that Grace stood there, trying to recapture her breath and find a voice beneath the stomach and heart that had lodged themselves in her throat. It wasn’t merely surprising to see Luke, it was deeply disconcerting. It had always been disconcerting to be around Luke Stewart, but why hadn’t she outgrown this particularly juvenile kind of heart-pounding, lip-trembling, struck-dumb reaction?
Just because once upon a time, a long time ago, she’d thought she’d loved him.
But instead of telling him, she’d married his best friend.
It was Luke who finally broke the silence. “You’re back.”
She nodded. “For a while.”
He held her gaze. She felt as powerless as a mortal in a Greek myth, unable to look away. “I thought you were gone for good,” he said.
Grace hoped she could sound calm and unaffected while her insides raged. “You just never know about people,” she said pointedly.
“No,” he agreed, just as pointedly. “No, you don’t.” He took a deep breath and blew it out, shuffling papers on the desk. “So. How long are you planning to stay?”
“About a year. I want to take my son back to New Jersey as soon as I can. To his friends and his school and all.”
Something flickered across Luke’s expression, but it was gone before she could identify it. “I heard about Michael. I’m sorry.”
Had he heard it from Michael himself? Surely not. They’d been pals in high school, but as far as Grace knew, they hadn’t spoken in years. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”
He shrugged. “Never did. What are you here to talk about, Grace?”
“I’m here about school business, of course.”
“Of course. How old’s your boy?”
“Ten.” Grace tried to think of something else to say, but she was stymied. She began to be aware of perspiration trickling down the center of her back, and wondered if it was the unusual May heat or this conversation with Luke that caused it.
She was completely over him.
Had been for years.
All of which was for the best, since he had never shared her feelings. In fact, during the three years of high school when they’d seen each other the most, they’d spent about 90 percent of their time arguing.
“So you’re looking to enroll him here for the year.” Luke nodded as if he’d figured out a puzzle. “We should probably move this discussion to my office and start over.”
“This isn’t your office?”
He looked around at the mess. “No. This is the garage. You wanted the main building. It’s just lucky I happened to be here.”
Lucky wasn’t the word that came to Grace’s mind. “This is where I was told to come,” she said, feeling her face grow warm and hating herself for it.
“Someone told you to come to the garage?”
She sighed. “Look, Luke, I’m not here to enroll my son and volunteer for classroom cookie duty, I’m here about the job. So are you going to interview me or not?”
“The job?” he repeated, as if the idea were incomprehensible. “What job?” Though his manner didn’t show it, he must have been rattled, because she’d already said why she was here. “There’s only one job opening here, and that can’t be…driving the bus?”
“Yes.” Grace raised her chin defiantly. “That’s the job I’m here about.”
He laughed. Laughed! “Give me a break.”
“What?”
“Come on. You’re Junior League, not bush league. You can’t be serious.”
“I’m completely serious.” Then she added, under her breath, “How many times am I going to have to say that today?”
A year ago, Grace couldn’t possibly have envisioned herself begging to be a bus driver. Someone could have won a lot of money on this bet.
He studied her for a moment, then said, “I don’t believe it.”
“What, do you think this is a joke? Do you think I just blew into town and decided the first thing I had to do was track you down, take some abuse about my marriage, then pretend to beg you for work? Does that make more sense, Luke, than Bayside Jobs sending me here looking for legitimate employment?”
“Actually, I have a hard time envisioning either scenario. But if Mary did send you here to drive the bus, I can’t even imagine what she was thinking. I’m afraid she had you come out here for nothing.”
“Mary?” Who was Mary?
He turned and looked at her sharply, as though he’d caught her trying to making faces at him. “Mary Lindon. You did say you were sent from Bayside.”
