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The driver turned around, looking past her through the rear window. “There’s a kid back there on the side of the road.”
Nola shifted to follow his gaze. “He’s walking oddly. Do you suppose he’s hurt?”
“If you don’t mind waiting a minute, I’ll go and check.”
“That will be fine.”
The worry on his grandfatherly face eased into a smile. “Thanks.”
Nola watched as he walked back down the road. The boy came to a stop as soon as he saw the man approaching. There was a moment of hesitation as they faced each other. Then the driver returned to the car alone.
Nola rolled down her window. “Is he all right?”
Taking off his cap, the man scratched his head. “He’s carrying a huge turtle. That’s why he’s walking strangely.”
“A turtle?”
“This big.” He rounded his hands, indicating a circle at least a foot in diameter. “But he won’t talk to me at all. Won’t say a word. Backs away, if I come closer.” Smoothing down his thick gray hair, he replaced his cap. “I guess he’s been told not to talk to strange men in cars. My kids and grandkids always were.”
“Oh.” She looked at the boy again, seeing how he struggled to keep hold of the agitated turtle. To judge by the size of that shell, the animal had to be heavy. “Do you think he would talk to a strange woman?”
The driver looked worried again. “I don’t…”
A glance at her watch told her they couldn’t afford much more delay. “Let’s find out.” She released the door latch and the driver jumped forward to pull it open for her. Together, they headed toward the boy and the turtle.
The day was warm for March in the mountains, the sunlight strong. A light breeze stirred her hair and cooled her cheeks. Nola stopped about ten feet away from the unlikely pair. “Are you okay?”
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” Dark, silky hair fell across his forehead and into his brown eyes. His cheeks and arms were pale and freckled, his jeans, shirt and boots, filthy. “Just trying to get this fella home.”
The turtle’s arms and legs flailed, exposing sharp claws that came close to scratching the boy’s hands. Its head and tail poked out and retreated into the shell repeatedly, and with each move the boy was forced to adjust his stance to compensate.
The driver glanced at the forest surrounding them. “Couldn’t you just put him down in the woods somewhere along here?”
“I found him down on the highway. He almost got runned over twice before I could pick him up. He needs water and someplace safe. We have a pond out back of the house I think he’ll like.”
“How far do you have to go?” Nola asked.
“Coupla miles.”
“What are you doing so far from home? And on Hawkridge property? This is private land, you know.”
“My dad works at Hawkridge. He’ll take me and Homer to the pond.”
“I’ve never heard of homer turtles.” Nola glanced at the driver, who shrugged.
“Me neither.” The boy flashed her an amused look, displaying a deep dimple near each corner of his mouth. “This is Terrapene carolina carolina. A common box turtle. Homer’s his name. After the Greek poet.”
With its black-and-gold patterned shell and wizened, enigmatic face, the creature was, in its own way, fascinating. “How do you know it’s a male?”
“Males have red eyes.” Closing the distance between them, the boy lifted the turtle toward Nola’s face. “See? Females have brownish eyes.”
“Ah.” She had a feeling he could give her a college-level lecture on the habitat and habits of the box turtle. And she might have been willing to listen, but then she’d be late for her appointment. “Well, if you’re okay…” She turned toward the driver. “We should be on our way.”
He touched the brim of his hat. “Yes, ma’am.” But then he looked at the boy again. In a low voice, he said to Nola, “I hate to leave him alone out here.”
Nola looked at her watch again. “He’s perfectly safe.” She always had been.
The driver wasn’t convinced. “Two miles is a long way to walk for a young kid.”
She took a deep, calming breath. “You want to give him a ride?”
“If you wouldn’t mind, ma’am. Since we’re going to the same place.”
“Fine.” Anything to simply get going. She looked back at the boy. “Would you like a ride to the school?”
He grinned. “Sure!” But then his face fell, as he appeared to reconsider. “Uh…I’m not supposed to ride with strangers.”
Nola stared at him, not sure what to do next. “I’m Nola Shannon. I’ll be teaching at Hawkridge for the next two months. So I’m not exactly a stranger.”
Relief brought out another dimpled grin. “I’m Garrett. If you’re a teacher, then it’ll be okay.” He marched forward, his flailing burden held in front of him. “Let’s go. My arms are getting tired.”
“You don’t want that animal in the car with you,” the driver told Nola as they followed the boy. “It’s filthy.”
She nodded. “We’ll put him in the trunk.”
With the trunk of the limousine open, however, Nola experienced second thoughts. So, evidently, did the turtle’s rescuer. “Homer might get hurt if a suitcase fell on him,” he said. “It would be good if we had something safe to put him in.” He scrutinized Nola’s luggage. “Can we take the stuff outta that little bag and put Homer in there?”
The driver gasped. “Absolutely not!”
But Nola, looking at the boy’s worried face, said, “I guess so.” It’s just my Louis Vuitton lingerie case.
With her underwear tucked into a different bag and Homer installed in French leather, she and Garrett got into the backseat. Still shaking his head, the driver restarted the engine and resumed their course.
“Would you like something to drink?” Nola opened the limo’s small refrigerator.
“Awesome.” The boy sat forward, his eyes wide. “Is this your car?”
“I rented it at the airport. Soda, juice or water?”
He pointed to a can of soda. “Have you got food, too?”
At the touch of her fingers, a sliding panel above the refrigerator revealed crackers, nuts, chips and candy. “Be my guest.”
“Oh, wow.” He took a bag of chips and scooted back against the seat, munching and sipping. “Where are you from?”
Nola settled into the corner with a bottle of water. “Boston.”
Garrett nodded. “I’ve been there. My mom and dad went to college in Boston. We used to visit sometimes.” He stopped chewing, and his gaze turned inward. “She died.”
“I’m sorry.” Losing a parent was hard, Nola knew from experience—she’d lost both of hers before she was eight years old. But he’d get over it, just as she had.
His shoulders lifted with a deep breath. “My mom liked animals a lot. They have a good zoo in Boston. Have you been there?”
“No, I haven’t.”
His brown eyes reproached her. “Why not? They have a great zoo in New York, too. And the one in Washington, D.C.—have you been there?” When she shook her head, he stared at her in shock. “Why not? Don’t you like zoos?”
“I—I just never think of going, I guess.” She’d been to the Boston zoo once on a school field trip, she remembered. And gotten in trouble for climbing into the giraffe enclosure on a dare. The animals hadn’t cared, but the chaperones had been furious.
“What do you do for fun?”
“I…” She had to stop and think. “I read and…and do word puzzles.” If you could call the New York Times crossword a mere puzzle.
“That’s all? Don’t you go out with your friends or anything?”
“I have a lot of work to do.” She didn’t want to admit how few people she could call “friend.”
Shaking his head, Garrett ploughed into the bag for more chips. “My dad says the same thing. We used to have people over all the time, before…” He sighed again. “He doesn’t feel much like seeing anyone these days. Says he’s tired.”
Nola didn’t know what to say, but Garrett didn’t seem to require a response, although he did ask politely for another bag of chips. He’d hardly stopped chewing long enough to breathe before the car emerged from the shady forest into bright afternoon sunlight. Just ahead, the road split to form a circular driveway leading up to the front door of the Victorian mansion that housed the Hawkridge School.
Nola chuckled. “I’d forgotten. It looks like a castle, doesn’t it?”
Garrett nodded and swallowed at the same time. “Some of the girls call it Hawkwarts. You know, like Hogwarts in the Harry Potter books?”
“There is a resemblance.” Built by railroad magnate Howard Ridgely in the late nineteenth century, the brick-and-stone house possessed its share of pointed turrets, plus acres of diamond-paned glass in its casement windows and hundreds of feet of iron railing around its porches and balconies. The overall effect should have been forbidding, like the setting for a gothic novel.
But instead, after twelve years away, Nola had the strange impression that she’d been on a long, difficult journey and had now, finally, come home again.
The car stopped beside the entrance. As Nola stepped onto the cobblestone driveway, girls’ voices floated through the open doorway from the main hall, competing with the sounds of birds twittering in the trees.
Garrett scrambled out behind Nola and went immediately to the rear of the car. “I need to get Homer to some water.”
Lifting the lid of the trunk, the driver said, “I’ll bring your bags in, Ms. Shannon. Just have someone tell me where I should put them.”
She turned to him and extended her hand. “I will. Thank you for everything. You’ve been a good sport.”
He grinned. “Hey, it’s not my suitcase that turtle’s been traveling in.”
Nola rolled her eyes. “I don’t even want to think about it.”
Garrett started up the steps, but then hesitated and turned back to wave at the driver. “Thank you for the ride,” he said, his cheeks flushed. “Me and Homer woulda had a long walk.”
The driver returned a two-fingered salute. “No problem.”
Nola joined Garrett on the steps. “Where do you think you’ll find your father?”
“In his office or at a meeting or something.” The boy picked up Nola’s case and climbed the remainder of the stone stairs, leaning a little to the side with the weight of the turtle. “He said he’d be done about four o’clock.”
“That gives you at least an hour to wait.” As they stepped inside, the tall case clock by the door began to play the Westminster chimes, a sequence as familiar to Nola as her own breath. The huge entry hall—fifty feet square, according to the Hawkridge Student’s Manual—had always been an afternoon gathering place for students, and nothing had changed there, either. Singles, pairs and groups of girls sat cross-legged on the black-and-white marble floor tiles, leaned against mahogany-paneled walls or perched on the steps of the circular staircase with its wrought-iron banister, studying and gossiping, arguing and laughing, as they’d done for more than forty years.
To the casual observer, the scene suggested a very expensive, very elegant private school for girls. But Agatha Ridgely, Howard Ridgely’s only child, had dedicated the estate and her fortune to a special cause. For most of these students, the Hawkridge School was the last resort, a final chance to turn their lives around before their behavioral problems—and the criminal-justice system—took over.
Having rung the chimes, the clock gave three sonorous strikes—marking the time for Nola’s appointment with the headmistress. Before the last note died away, a door on the right side of the hall opened. The woman who stepped out smiled as the entry hall instantly went silent.
“It’s okay,” she said, her voice low but clear. “I won’t start cracking the whip until Monday morning at eight.”
Judging by their laughter, the girls did not feel particularly threatened.
When she saw Nola, the other woman quickly crossed the floor. She wore a white shirt, dark blue slacks and sensible shoes, but her colorful sweater was decorated with cartoon characters—a crazy rabbit and his roadrunner pal, plus a wise-cracking duck and a bald little man with a rifle.
Her smooth skin revealed she was younger than she’d first appeared. Her chestnut-brown hair, combed back to fell in waves over her shoulders, showed not a single strand of gray.
“Nola, there you are! Welcome to Hawkridge. I’m Jayne Thomas, the ringmaster of this circus. Please forgive the noise—spring break has just ended and the girls are catching up on each other’s lives.” She took Nola’s hand without really shaking it, then looked down at Garrett. “Helping with the luggage, Garrett? That’s nice of you.”
“Uh, not exactly.” He shifted Nola’s case to his other hand. “She let me borrow it.”
The headmistress widened her eyes. “For what?”
“Homer,” Nola said. “A turtle he found on the road.”
“Oh, Garrett.” The headmistress now looked quite distressed, indeed. “Tell me you didn’t put a turtle in that beautiful suitcase.”
“He was gonna get hurt in the trunk,” Garrett explained. “Ms. Shannon said I could.”
“Oh, dear.” Jayne Thomas placed a hand on Nola’s shoulder. “Garrett’s well-known for his collecting habits. He keeps an entire menagerie of injured animals.”
“I’m glad I could help.” Nola smiled. “I hope his father won’t mind one more addition to the collection.”
“Dad doesn’t care.” Garrett glanced up at the curved balcony running around three sides of the entry hall. “There he is now. Dad! Hey, Dad!”
He ran to the circular staircase and started up, lugging the suitcase with him, dodging the girls who lounged on the steps, talking and laughing. “Come see what I found, Dad. It’s the coolest box turtle, ever!”
Somewhere out of sight, a man said, “A box turtle, so early in the spring? I guess this warm spell has brought them out of hibernation.”
His voice hadn’t changed, and Nola would have recognized it anywhere. The years rolled back, and she was eighteen again…
…standing at the foot of the staircase on a hot August afternoon, when a gorgeous guy wearing jeans and a navy sports jacket stepped through the front door. He slipped his backpack off his shoulder, looked in her direction and grinned.
“I’m Mason Reed,” he said in a delicious southern drawl. “The new physics teacher. And you are…?”
In love, Nola answered silently. Totally and forever in love. With you.
Chapter Two
“There’s Mason, now.”
Jayne Thomas’s voice brought Nola back to the present. In the next moment, he descended into view on the staircase, but then quickly crouched down to peer at the turtle Garrett—his son, Garrett—revealed in Nola’s suitcase. Through the iron balusters, she could see that Mason’s hair was as dark as she remembered, the same silky brown as Garrett’s. Worn a little long, the relaxed waves brushed his jacket collar and the curves of his ears and his eyebrows. Still lean and flat waisted, he straightened up without visible effort.
