Sometimes Jane wished she could be a rule-breaker like Mina, unashamed and unfettered. But Jane reminded herself that she had more to hide and more to lose. Secrets, large and small.
She recognized the Grateful Dead tune emanating from Luke’s classroom. Inside, Luke sat at his desk, singing along as he worked on his laptop. His face was a study in black and white. His dark hair was cropped neatly around the ears, though unruly strands fell over his pale forehead. Slender lines of charcoal hair etched his chin and upper lip. Bold black frames could not mask the smoky wonder of his eyes. Those chocolate eyes had been the lure that had pulled her over the brink three years ago when they had gone from being friends to secret partners.
She tried to tap on the door, but the bones of the tent rammed against the threshold as she wedged herself inside. “Mr. Bandini.”
“Ms. Ryan. You seem to be in need of assistance.” The strain around his eyes softened as he got up from the desk and came to her. At five-eight, Luke Bandini was smaller than many of the students, spare but strong, though what he lacked in stature he made up for in a powerful presence and a voice that could boom through a classroom like rumbling thunder. He slid the heavy canopy from her shoulder while Jane let the cargo from the opposite shoulder flop to the ground. “You’ve got to let me help you with this. It will only take a minute, and you know how I dig construction.”
“True.” While Jane had already pinched her hand assembling the damn canopy for a practice, Luke had mad physics skills. He could change a tire or bake flakey biscuits because he reveled in the science of things: the engineering of a simple lever, the chemistry of butter clumps in layered dough. “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t want to give the team parents any more information about us than they already have.”
“Hey, nothing wrong with a fellow teacher lending a hand.” He pushed the door closed behind her and took her hand. A daring gesture, here at school. “Besides, I think they know about us.”
“They probably do.” Her fingers curled around his hand, as if holding a glimmering seashell. “But I don’t want to fan the fires.” Her reputation was important to Jane; she didn’t want to make a misstep that might start someone digging into her past. “It’s already hard for Harper, attending the same school where her mother teaches.”
“I know, and I can wait.” Her nerves tingled as his thumb massaged her palm. “Three years.” That was their new deal, forged this summer over cheese, crackers, and a bottle of red wine their first night at Diamond Lake while Harper was off at softball camp. Marriage. Jane ached to take that step with Luke, to make it legal and official, to stop sneaking around like teenagers. Oh, to share a bed, split the chores, cook for each other, and stay in their pajamas until noon on Sunday. But she couldn’t do that to Harper, not while the girl was banging through the narrow tunnel of teen angst. To bring a man into the house—even a guru-saint like Luke—might derail Harper, who perceived threats in the most innocent of actions. In three years, Harper would be off to college, and there would be breathing room for all of them. Three years was the new mantra.
“I want to go back to Diamond Lake,” she said suddenly.
One dark brow lifted. “I guess that means we’re on for next summer.”
“I’m so high maintenance. A single parent with a live-wire daughter.”
“Complexity makes for a juicier story. You’ve got a great story, and a cute ass.”
She squeezed his hand, then let it go. Maybe their mutual attraction was amplified by the need to keep things under wraps. Other parents got the occasional free weekend through shared custody or sending their kids off for a trip to Grandma’s. Jane envied them the free time, but this just wasn’t her season to leave the vine. “Three years,” she said.
“With a few naughty nights in between.”
“Let’s hope so.” She went to the counter, to the supplies that she always found so amusing. Cotton balls, Popsicle sticks, and paper cups to build crash crates for eggs. A fat jar of pickles, for snacking and zapping with electrodes to demonstrate properties of electricity. “So how do your class lists look? The usual crowds?” Kids were always trying to finagle a spot in Luke’s conceptual physics class, and Luke, always a sucker for a good story, usually signed them in.
He sucked air between his teeth. “I haven’t even looked. Angry Bird therapy got the better of me.” He lifted the pickle jar to his chest. “Would you like a kosher dill?”
“I’m good. I’d better get out there. I just wanted to firm up plans for Friday night. Harper’s got that sleepover.” Although Luke had begun to join Harper and her for an occasional dinner, most of their time together coincided with Harper’s time away from home.
“Friday works for me.” He held up the heaviest canvas bag. “So do you want me to set this up on the field? No lascivious looks, I promise.”
“Your very presence out there is an admission of guilt.”
“And who is it we’re hiding from again? Because the parents shouldn’t care, and the kids already know.”
They had been over this ground a thousand times, and Jane was beginning to wonder why she kept hiding the truth. Harper was fed up with the ruse. “Mom! Everybody knows,” Harper complained, usually with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “Why are you making such a big deal of this?” Jane usually countered by saying that she valued her privacy and her reputation as a teacher. To which Harper would retort that Jane was “old-school” or “random.”
Jane sighed. “What the hell. We can’t hide forever.”
“Let me remind you, we’re not breaking any laws.”
“Only the unwritten code of Puritan suburbia.”
Humor sparked in his eyes. “I’ll wear my scarlet letter like a badge of honor.”
They stepped from the dim school corridors to a crisp landscape of cerulean sky and rolling green hills. Oregon summers held a distinct beauty, with sunny, dry days and cool, starry nights and oceans of sweet, fresh air. Summers reminded Jane of the best parts of California: green lawns and barbecues and the lemony sunshine that had lit her childhood.
Built into the green hills on the elevated rim of the lake, the school campus had one of the better views in town, though the fir trees had grown so tall in the last fifty years that you could no longer see the lake that nestled in the center crevice of the horseshoe-shaped formation of hills. The school track backed up to the grassy splendor of the municipal golf course, and now the new baseball “Field of Dreams” shared a fence with an assisted living home, which had received a few foul balls but only one broken window in the three years since it had been built. Jane had grown fond of the town that she’d chosen through an online search, plugging in “best schools” and “low crime rates” as her top priorities. Mirror Lake was a place where most kids lived close enough to walk to school and parents felt secure enough to let their middle-schoolers hoof it. It was not unusual to see a handful of kids on their bikes, riding to the ice-cream store, heading to the park, or going down to the river to do some fishing. These days Mirror Lake had more of a wholesome, hometown feel than Burnson, the California home of Jane’s childhood that had crumbled into bankruptcy and depression in the past decade.
As Jane and Luke rounded the snack shack, the Mirror Lake girls came into view, their yellow and blue uniforms like sunflowers dotting the soccer field. Jane recognized Harper from the way she moved, graceful and strong, as she reached up to make a catch. This was Harper’s realm: the kinetic game. Something clicked when she stepped behind home plate, replacing the wary, unsure teenager with a chiseled athlete capable of controlling the entire field of players.
“First game of the year with Hoppy as varsity catcher.” Luke bumped Jane on the shoulder. “You must be proud.”
“I’m so nervous.” But Jane knew Harper wouldn’t be ruffled. The girl might melt down over a geometry test, but she was in her element out on the diamond.
“She’ll do fine,” Luke said. “She’s a natural.”
“I know she
is. Look at her, laughing with Emma. She doesn’t get rattled by competition.”
“When you come from a place of confidence, there’s no need to stress. And for all other worrisome details, Harper has you to do the worrying for her,” Luke teased.
“I’m glad someone appreciates me.”
“Oh, I appreciate.”
“Hi, Mom!” Harper shouted, waving before she whipped her arm back and shot a ball across the field to her warm-up partner. Hair the color of dark cider was pulled back in a ponytail, as usual, and Harper’s new aviator shades resembled those of a Hollywood actress hiding from the press. Even her stern, tomboyish style of dress could not disguise the fact that Harper was a beautiful girl. But then, all the girls at Mirror Lake High possessed a distinct splendor, a signature movement or energy that they weren’t quite comfortable with yet.
Jane waved back, glad that it was a good day. Since she’d started high school, Harper had vacillated between proudly owning her mother and pretending she didn’t exist.
Many of the girls called greetings to “Ms. Ryan” and “Mr. Bandini.”
“Hey there, Mr. Bandini.” Olivia Ferguson turned toward him, ball in her mitt, and lunged to stretch her long haunches. “Are you coming to watch our game, too?”
The innuendo was not lost on Jane. Olivia never missed a chance to probe.
“Not today, Olivia.”
“Aw. You should stay.” When she stretched her arms overhead, her full breasts protruded against her tight jersey. A woman’s body and an adolescent brain were a dangerous combination. Or maybe Olivia had matured since she’d been a student in Jane’s freshman English class. “No one ever comes to our games.” Olivia pouted.
Luke did not break stride as he flashed a pleasant smile. “Maybe some other time. Did you ladies have a good summer?”
The girls gave bland smiles, then turned back to practice.
Over at the ball field, the girls of the West Green team ran a lap around the outfield, a forest of thick, green giants. Local legend had it that everything grew bigger in West Green. The visiting coach was sharing her roster with the umpire, a stout, gray-haired man with a serious demeanor. It was always a relief to have a calm, seasoned person officiating; teenage umpires were so easily rattled.
Some of the parents had already set up chairs along the foul line. At the grassy edge of the outfield, Linda Ferguson lay on a blanket reading a book. One bare foot bent back over her butt as if she were a beach bunny. Linda’s husband, Pete, hovered over the coach, who sat on the team bench working on the lineup. Legs crossed and head down, Carrie didn’t seem interested in Pete’s opinion, but no one in the Ferguson family read or respected body language. Although Harper had not played with Olivia yet, Harper had already been strong-armed by seventeen-year-old Olivia during practices. And Jane had been warned by a few of the softball moms that the Fergusons had been at the center of last year’s varsity turmoil. A believer in education, Jane hoped that this year the Fergusons might learn a few lessons about teamwork.
Fortunately, two of Harper’s friends since grade school were on the team with her, which gave Jane two instant “mom” friends, stable, capable women with a sense of humor and perspective. She headed toward Trish Schiavone, the most down-to-earth mom on the team. Trish squatted beside three grade-school kids, digging through a flexible cooler. “Did we really leave all the juice packs in the car? Kids, Mom is losing her marbles.” Trish stood up and sprinted past Jane. “Be back in a sec.”
Jane set her bag down and opened the canvas tote. “How are you kids doing today?”
“We’re okay,” Trish’s daughter said, scratching her freckled nose. “But my mom is losing her marbles.”
“I hate when that happens.” As Jane set up her chair, she eavesdropped on bits of conversation: talk of a new wine bar in town, tales of summer vacation, and something about Olivia Ferguson. Summer camp? Jane recalled that Olivia had spent three weeks at a “superstar” softball camp, a pricey operation that promised amazing results. Harper had begged on her knees for the opportunity—“Please! Oh, please, please, please, Mama-dish! ”—but Jane had explained that they couldn’t afford a camp that would cost the same as a semester’s tuition at the state university. The parent chatter was a bit more heated than usual today, with someone making a barb that “you can’t buy athletic skill” and someone else expressing worry that the team would suffer. She sensed that the controversy swirled around the Fergusons.
Sinking into her chair, Jane tipped her face to the blue sky and vowed to remain neutral. As a teacher, she had to steer clear of the social dynamics that pitted parents against each other. Still, as a parent, she needed to advocate for her daughter. She walked a fine line, but wasn’t life a series of choices and compromises? “Maintain balance,” her yoga teacher said cheerfully. Such a good lesson for anyone.
Over by the team bench, Luke was just about finished working his magic, connecting poles and unfolding canvas to unfurl the canopy over the home team bench. Carrie still penciled notations on her clipboard, mindless of the tent rising over her as she fended off Pete Ferguson. It was unlike the two of them not to lend Luke a hand. Jane took out her cell and texted him.
Thanks. You’re my hero.
The home team galloped over from the practice field, a herd of powerful, wild fillies. Some of the parents cheered, though most had their heads down, eyes locked on cell phones. Linda Ferguson had come in from the outfield, her blanket neatly folded under her arm as she talked with her husband. Clearly unhappy, they sat apart from the covey of parents.
When Trish returned with a carton of juice pouches, she was distracted, scowling toward the tiered parking lot that cut into the hillside. She leaned close to Jane, muttering under her breath. “There’s some man sitting in a car down there.”
Jane rose and turned toward the parking lot.
“A silver Chevy. Second tier.”
Jane couldn’t tell which car that was from here, and Luke had already disappeared.
Trish dug her fingers into the end of the carton and dumped the juice into the small cooler. “Okay, guys. You can each take one for now.” The kids took their juice and scooters and headed toward the path. “And don’t go down by the parking lot,” Trish called after them.
“Should I call the police?” Jane said in a near whisper. “Or the office? Gray Tarkington will check him out.” At six-foot-five, their vice principal was a tower of intimidation.
“He wasn’t doing anything illegal,” Trish said as they walked over for a closer look. The middle tier was a good hundred yards away, but from the ridge of the ball field they had a clear view. “It just gave me the creeps. I mean, he wasn’t talking on a cell, and any parent picking up his kid goes to the front of the school.”
“It is weird,” Jane agreed. “We need to trust our instincts. It wouldn’t hurt to get his plate number.”
Sunlight glinted off a silver car as it backed out of a space and crawled up the hill toward the exit. It happened too fast and far away to make out any details.
“There he goes.”
“Well. That’s a relief.” Jane promised to relay a description of the driver—a dark-haired, middle-aged male—to the administrative staff. “It’s always good to report these things.”
“Right? You never know,” Trish agreed as they returned to their seats.
A few years ago, the report of a loitering dark-haired man would have sent Jane into a panic, but time had eased her fears. She still double-checked the locks at night, and her reserved demeanor kept most strangers at bay, but with each passing year the cloak of security grew stronger.
Without fanfare the game began as a West Green player grounded to first. Trish cheered for their pitcher KK Dalton, whose parents had missed most of last year’s games.
“Come on, girlfriend,” Trish shouted. “You can do it.”
Jane smiled. Trish was way cooler than she was.
“Good afternoon, Jane.” A chuckle came from beside her
, and she found Keiko Suzuki squatting gracefully beside her chair. Jane had met Keiko when their girls were in the same preschool class, and over the years they had weathered a few parenting storms together. “You look like you’re enjoying the sun, and I hate to bother you on this beautiful day.”
“You could never be a bother,” Jane said, and she meant it. She had always found Emma’s mother to be kind, poised, and patient. Besides that, Jane was mystified at the way Keiko managed to hold down a job with a state agency, volunteer at school, and still attend every game.
“So much going on. Have you heard Pete Ferguson’s new plan?”
“Tell me.”
“Apparently, Olivia was told she is playing the wrong position for her body type.” Keiko pressed a pale hand to her clavicle, wistful and respectful. Years ago, Jane had learned that a word for “no” did not exist in the Japanese language, and she saw that penchant for stating things positively in Emma and her mother. “That’s what they were teaching at this softball camp. They said she is too tall and big-boned to be a shortstop.”
“Really? Just like that.”
“This is a new theory, but the Fergusons are taking it very seriously.” Keiko gazed at the coach as she spoke. Linda had joined her husband, apparently double-teaming Carrie, who was not making eye contact.
“And they’re badgering Carrie to switch Olivia’s position,” Jane said, narrating the scene before them. “What position did the experts tell Olivia she should be playing?”
“That’s the concern,” Keiko sighed. “I’m afraid she wants to be the catcher.”
Chapter 2
Jane tried to stay in the moment and avoid falling into a pit of worry, but the game moved slowly for the first few innings. Foul balls and full counts. She watched for signs that Harper’s performance was impaired by news of Olivia’s plan, but Harper remained fluid and energetic, batting in two runs in the second inning. She couldn’t have heard.
Take Another Look Page 2
