She reached again for her phone. She would call Dan back. She would share the new theory about Win that had struck her moments ago. But a quick glance at her clock told her that this would have to wait. She was almost at school, and she would just have time to talk to Gwen. That was important, too. She was very concerned about the young teacher who was eaten up by her adoration of Seth, a man who did not deserve her.
Inge crested a hill and the Caro grounds swam into view. As they did, another epiphany struck her—the second of this fertile afternoon. Seth did not deserve Gwendolyn. The one who deserved her was Jason.
The chord that had not seemed to harmonize when she thought about Win’s new life abruptly adjusted itself and rang true. Inge eased into a parking space and, in one continuous motion, cut the motor and emerged from her car. It was a glorious fall day and she drank deeply of the crisp, fragrant air. Her spirits, lately so low, had fully recovered. Her mind was firing on all cylinders, and it was good. Jason and Gwen.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, discomfort about Win flickered, but she suppressed it.
Slamming the door behind her, Inge walked purposefully toward the school entrance, where cars were already queuing for the pickup that would start in 15 minutes. There was the kindergarten teacher in her usual place, whistle around her neck, waiting for the children to come out. Every color glittered with that special clarity that in Maryland distinguished the murk of summer from the bright promise of fall. Things happened, but one could not stay down in September.
Chapter 2
Gwendolyn Brice paced restlessly along the walkway that stretched before the entrance of the Caro school. She was enjoying the brief respite between the dismissal of her own kindergarten class just a few minutes before, and the release of the older children, who would explode through the school doors a quarter of an hour from now. Already cars were beginning to park in the distance and the first of those parents who preferred to pick up on foot were taking up positions along the walkway.
Most parents, though, preferred a drive-through pickup. At Gwen’s left, lengthening by the minute, a line of gigantic cars idled. Within these monstrous machines—high off the ground and shielded by darkened glass—sat the children’s tiny mothers, sleek, immaculately groomed and intent on their cell phones. So much to say.
Usually Gwen enjoyed the carpool line. She worked hard in her classroom, but dismissal was a time to visit and chat. Today, though, she was pensive. She gazed at the tops of the distant trees, seeking to steady her troubled thoughts against the thing with which she was always struggling. Seth.
Seth was the music teacher at Caro but really, she felt, he was a creative artist and should be pursuing his art professionally.He was not primarily a performing artist, although he seemed able to play nearly every instrument.He couldn’t play any of them the way she played the violin, but still.
No, despite his really exceptional talent with the instruments, Seth was primarily a composer. She had had a formal musical education and he had not, yet she found his compositions very sophisticated. It added, somehow, to the excitement of Seth that he had not been taught to do what he did. He was a natural. He was a genius.
He must be, for he had graduated from Harvard. Gwen was in awe of the Ivy Leagues and all those who came from them. She herself had attended a state university. She had spent her high school years practicing the violin. This had crowded out her grades without—though she played beautifully—elevating her to the level at which her musical accomplishments might have substituted for a stronger transcript. After that, she had considered attending the conservatory; she certainly played well enough to have done that. But she and her parents, too, had been anxious for her to earn her living. The result had been a public education and a humble admiration for graduates with elite degrees.
But Seth was beyond even his awe-inspiring classmates. Gwen loved the way he looked: disheveled just so, and world-weary.He was an exotic and she adored it. Her own people were Midwestern and plain vanilla. She knew she was pretty enough, with soft blue eyes, a round face and a small body that, though trim, curved sweetly. Seth, though, was in an entirely different and superior category. The son of a Spanish mother and a French father, he was dark-skinned, fashionably multicultural and—as he liked to remind her—actually more European than American. Gwen understood that all too well. Although she was a little ashamed of it, she was privately obsessed with his family and clung to every shred of information she had managed to glean about them.
She and Seth had met almost three years ago, when they were both new to Caro. She noticed him long before they first spoke, as he looked so different from the rest of the faculty and held himself aloof from his colleagues. But then one day she walked past the open door of his classroom and heard the strains of a string quartet wafting from the computer within.
She loved chamber music, but almost nobody her age ever listened to it. Only true music geeks like herself liked string quartets. So that had been the beginning of the next three years of Gwendolyn’s life.
She had spoken to Seth that morning and several times thereafter, but he had not at first been interested. Then one day, he saw her with her violin case and, after that, his gaze began to focus. Their talks grew longer, although actually, it was he who did most of the talking. He spoke to her about his music. He spoke about his certainty that he should be composing professionally, the stupidity of the conductors and performers who did not understand his work and his amazement and disgust at finding himself stuck at Caro. She was thrilled to be his confidant.
These conversations began to dominate her thoughts. She found that she looked forward to them, and then she found that she was living for them. She left each one elated, yet none had ever been anything but accidental. They had never once met by intention. He had never once phoned her.
Gwendolyn began to scheme to make these meetings happen. She altered her routes through the halls of Caro so as to pass his room. She feared that perhaps she was becoming a stalker.
Then the joyful day arrived when he suggested that they meet.He wanted her to play one of his newest compositions. He had written it for the violin and needed to hear it on a live instrument.
The setting was hardly romantic; this, their first formal date, took place in his classroom after school. But Gwen was beyond honored. The composition needed refinement and she was asked to play it again. The next time they met at his home, and here— at last—he honored her with his body as well.
As it had begun, so it continued. Gwen loved Seth and her happiness when she was with him was perfect. But she never seemed to be with him often enough, and the contact they did have seemed always to occur by happenstance. Three years on, she was still scheming to pass his door. He would see her, and they would go home together. She would play his compositions for him. She dreamed of having his child. He did not call.
In her happier moments, when she had just been with him, she felt that they were powerfully connected and that her hopes were not unfounded. But these moments were scattered like stars across the blackness of her abiding despair, for she knew about Solange.
Seth had mentioned Solange, after all, very early on—perhaps the second time that he and Gwen had talked. She had been his girlfriend in college and they had remained close, entirely too close for Gwen. Solange was a tiny, waifish girl, thin as a 7-yearold and impossibly, unbearably chic. She was an artist, who drew and painted. She worked in a sophisticated antique store in tony Georgetown. She was French, like Seth. She had a beautiful name.Seth and Solange: Their names even sounded beautiful together.
Solange haunted Gwendolyn’s dreams. In her misery and confusion there were even times when she felt that she had a crush on her, as much as she did on Seth. Although they had never met, Gwen had seen Solange several times when the other girl had dropped in on Seth at school. She had seen her, in fact, today.
Now, with a surge of relief, Gwen saw Inge approaching from the parking lot. Inge came every day to the carpool line and Gwen had unburdened herself about Seth to the older woman. She knew that Inge did not approve. No one did. Her family was ready to take out a contract on Seth. Nonetheless, Gwen would talk to Inge again today. She ached with the need to discuss this latest sighting of Solange.
They met with mutual pleasure. Inge disappoved of Gwen’s love affair, but she was very fond of the young woman herself and enjoyed their daily chats. She had been following the Saga of Seth with great interest.
She could see right away that her friend was feeling low. Sure enough, her inquiry was met with a heavy sigh.
“She was here again today. Solange,” Gwen clarified, in a low voice. “I think they left together.”
“Mmm,” Inge sympathized, but only briefly. “Well, you know she’s part of the landscape, with him. Don’t you, Gwen?”
“I’m not sure they left together. He had his keys out. They might just have been getting something from his car.”
“Does that make it better?”
“Not much,” Gwen admitted.
“Because if they didn’t leave together today, they could tomorrow.” Inge hated to be brutal, but someone had to make Gwen understand.
“If they haven’t left I could show her to you.” Gwen craned her neck toward the parking lot.
“I don’t need to see her, dear,” said Inge. “I believe you.”
“You should see how thin she is, though.”
“Gwen, your problem isn’t Solange. Your problem is Seth.”
“I know.”
Gwen sighed again. “I think he isn’t happy, is the thing. I know he doesn’t want to be here. I think that makes it hard for him to commit.” She twisted the whistle that hung around her neck. “He’s good and everything—he’s a great teacher—but when he started here three years ago, it was just supposed to be for one year. I think he just feels like his whole life is stuck.”
This was a familiar story. Inge was silent, pondering how best to respond to it this time.
“His music needs to get performed. He’s really been working. He works very hard”—loyally—“and he’s got a stack of compositions. There’s a professor of mine from college who I think would really be interested in this piece he just finished. This guy used to like me and I’m thinking of getting in touch—”
This, at last, was too much for Inge. “Gwen,” she said. “Gwen.
If the tables were turned, would Seth do a favor for you?”
Behind them a bell jangled and a door opened. The rising voices of just-liberated children floated toward them from inside.
They had only a few moments. Gwen was silent. She did not answer Inge’s question.
“Think less about Seth, and more about Gwen!” Inge urged, as the first of the children began streaming out. “And think about your whole life!What do you want from it?”
Gwen looked her friend straight in the eye. “I want to get married,” she answered.
“Great! You should! But what do you want from a husband, Gwen? It’s time to think about that.You do a lot to help Seth, and that’s good. But the man you marry should also help you! He should care for you; he should encourage you. And he should help support you, too. You want children, right?”
Gwen nodded, eyes wide for emphasis.
“Well, you don’t want to raise them on a kindergarten teacher’s salary, or a composer’s salary, either,” Inge added. “Money is a big part of marriage.Marry someone who understands that.”
Inge paused, surprised at herself.Where had that come from? She had not planned to talk about money. But Gwen had been listening. Poor Gwen. Her eyes were filling with tears.
Inge pressed on, changing the subject. “What does your family think of Seth? Have they met him?”
“They’re interviewing hit men,” confessed Gwen, with a wet smile.
This was undoubtedly the moment to introduce her idea about Jason. But before Inge could speak, a wiry, mid-sized body careened into her hip, causing her to stagger slightly. It was Michael, who was 9. Children were milling everywhere now and to their left, car doors were beginning to slam. Gwen, recalling her duty, reached out an arm and pulled a small girl back from the curb.
“Careful,” said Inge to Michael. “You’ll make me fall.”
Michael slipped his backpack from his shoulders and dropped it with a thud at her feet. “Davy’s in the mulch again,” he said. “I’ll get him.”And he darted off.
Sarah appeared in his place and as always, lately, Inge marveled at her daughter’s new height. She was 11, thin as a string and climbing daily toward eye level with her mother.
“Mom, we have a field trip tomorrow,” she said, also removing her backpack. “Where’s Davy?”
Davy was 5, and as roly-poly as his siblings were thin. This made him look much younger than his years and contributed to his position as a sort of family pet. The children fought daily for the privilege of escorting him to the car.
“He’s here,” said Inge, seeing Michael leading her youngest child forward. “Hi, sweet pea.” She brightened, giving Davy a kiss.
Pausing in her duties, Gwen stooped to smile at her student eye to eye. “Did we have fun today?” she asked.
“Hi. Yeah,” said Davy, a man of few words.
It was time to go.
Inge waved at Gwen, who had roamed again down the line of cars, opening doors.Gwen waved back and blew a kiss. How heartbreaking.
Ahead of Inge, Davy wriggled out of his brother’s grasp and dashed back to her side. “Mommy!” he cried. Absently, she took his hand, but she barely heard his voice.Gwen deserved to be happy! Her plan was humming in her head, filling it.
“Mommy!” Sensing her distraction, Davy tugged at her hand. “Mommy, we’re making leaf collections!”
Inge gazed downward, smiling radiantly at her adorable child. “What’s that, darling?” she sang gaily. “Great!”And holding hands they sprinted to the car.
Inge lifted the day’s mail from its basket and flipped through it, frowning at a bill.
Davy was playing in the yard and the older children were attending to their homework. Inge had seized this opportunity to duck into her small home office. The moment was peaceful and quiet, and late afternoon sunlight slanted pleasantly through her window, casting lengthening shadows across her desk.
Despite the serenity around her, though, Inge was troubled. She had just learned from an e-mail that a job she had hoped to get had not come through.
Inge had a small, independent business as a communications consultant. She had chosen this work because it allowed her to spend time with her children and still earn an income. That was the theory, anyway. In practice, the income part did not always work out. The past few months had been far too slow. If things didn’t turn around, what were she and Dan supposed to do about these bills?
