A Mother's Reflection

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.

The screen on his desk suddenly came to life. He sat back on his chair. What had just happened? Good question, Wessler. He wasn’t referring to the computer; he was thinking about the interview. A stunning young woman waltzes into my office as though she’s on some kind of mission, and my brain goes AWOL. How could I have gone against my gut reaction and hired her on the spot?

It had nothing to do with the way she looked. No one could accuse him of that kind of bias. Sure, she was curvy in all the right places, with legs that didn’t quit, but he’d hardly noticed. And he’d hardly noticed her face as he’d gone through the motions of conducting the interview. Her skin was smooth and sun kissed, her smile bright and contagious. Her emerald eyes shone with a passion that, these days, was foreign to him—although he hadn’t paid much attention to her eyes, either.

No, it was because he needed someone to fill in for the teacher he had originally hired for the position. After deciding she would rather act than teach, Susan Dobbs had suddenly quit and left for New York.

Good luck, he thought. New York was full of would-be actors.

But that wasn’t the only reason he had hired Rachel. That wasn’t why his brain had turned to oatmeal. It had something to do with his daughter. Only a blind person couldn’t have seen the way Megan and Rachel had connected. No sighted person could have missed the way Rachel had glowed like a child on Christmas morning when he’d suggested that Megan show her around the center, or how Megan had eagerly complied.

He knew she was more than qualified for the job. This was children’s amateur theater, not Broadway, and she was a teacher with stage experience. But there was something about her, something that didn’t add up. Something he couldn’t define.

Before Megan had barged in, he had decided to turn Rachel down, basing his decision purely on instinct. But the skillful way she’d handled the situation with Megan had convinced him to change his mind. When Erika had cast another girl for the part of Annie, Megan had taken the decision as a personal affront—Megan took everything Erika did as a personal affront—yet in less than a minute Rachel had persuaded Megan to take the part of Grace. It had been nothing short of amazing. And this was why he had gone against his initial reaction and hired her. Someone with as much understanding of kids as she’d demonstrated was what this place needed. Maybe she was just what Megan needed.

He was always on the lookout for anything that might brighten his daughter’s life. She was so temperamental, more so these past two months, ever since his mother had taken a turn for the worse. Recently he’d brought home a puppy from the pound, even though Erika had been against it. “You can’t expect someone so troubled to be responsible for another living thing,” she’d argued. Erika had been wrong. Cinnamon had quickly become Megan’s best friend and confidante, and where the puppy’s health and safety were concerned, Megan was like a doting parent. But she was still so moody.

She was high-strung because she was gifted, Erika insisted. Someone with that much talent should be in a special school. The Manhattan School for the Arts had a few openings, but time was running out. Adam had to make a decision soon, to secure a place.

Then there was his mother. He had to make a decision about her, as well.

He stared out the window. Middlewood was a pretty town, with neatly laid-out streets and yards. The downtown streets were lined with antique stores and trendy cafés, and something was always going on—a festival, an exhibit, an organized walk through the hilly grounds. The town was growing fast, and change was something he had trouble with.

The phone rang, taking him by surprise. It’s about time that thing worked, he thought, picking up the receiver. But after what he heard on the other end, he found himself wishing that the connection hadn’t been fixed. Not that he was ever inaccessible. These days, with one crisis after another at home, he made sure he was never without his cell phone. After a brief conversation he hung up and placed his head in his hands.

He thought back to the past. Except for his years at Berkeley he’d lived in Middlewood all his life. After graduation he married his childhood sweetheart, Cathy, and began teaching at the local high school. Five years later they adopted a baby, and for ten more years they lived a normal, happy life. Then, on the day of their fifteenth anniversary, Cathy had been driving back from the hairdresser’s and his world had collapsed.

No, he wasn’t very good at handling change. But things were changing, and he felt powerless to stop them.

He was about to leave his office, when he remembered his umbrella. The sun shone in through the open window, and the day outside was bright and clear. He was sure the forecast was wrong, but the last thing he wanted was to be caught by surprise as he walked across the parking lot. Like change, surprise was something he didn’t handle well.

“Through those doors is the passageway that leads to the arena,” Megan said. “Isn’t that neat? You don’t even have to leave the building.”

“Do you skate?” Rachel asked hopefully.

“No, I don’t have much time for sports, with acting classes and rehearsals and helping out at home. Dad plays hockey, though. He says it helps him unwind. But I guess that kind of skating is different.”

They passed through the main corridor and entered the theater. “This place is wonderful,” Rachel said. “I never figured on it being so large!”

“It seats five hundred. Middlewood might be a small town, but we have a reputation for supporting the arts.” Megan motioned to the orchestra pit. “We even have our own symphony. They’ll be doing the music for Annie.”

Rachel was touched by Megan’s obvious pride in her community. “When do they plan on finishing in here?” she asked as they made their way to the stage. She craned her neck and looked up. A big burly man was standing on the catwalk, hammering.

“Sometime next week. At least that’s what Farley says.” Balancing herself with one arm, Megan swung onto a crate and sat down. “I suppose I’ll have to introduce you to Erika.” She rolled the name off her tongue as if it had a sour taste.

“You don’t like her, do you?”

“Let me put it this way. If we were putting on The Wizard of Oz, she’d be perfect in the role of the witch. I’m just hoping that someone will drop a house on her. Maybe then I won’t have to move away.”

In her careful scheming Rachel hadn’t considered that Adam would ever leave Middlewood. She felt a cold knot form in her chest. “Your father just took on a new job. Why does he want to move?”

“He’s not moving, just me,” Megan answered. “To some kind of finishing school. Did you ever hear of anything so stupid? A finishing school in this century! Erika calls it an art academy, but she can’t fool me. The Manhattan School for the Arts is just a place where East Coast parents can dump their kids.”

“I take it you don’t want to go.” Rachel’s mind was whirling. She supposed she could always apply for a position at the school, but why would they hire her? The Manhattan School for the Arts was world renowned. It wasn’t a small private school in Hartford, and it certainly wasn’t Middlewood.

Megan shrugged. “At least I won’t be living with Erika. She’s been chasing after my father ever since Mom died. Dad says they’re just good friends, but if I know Erika, she’ll have a ring on his finger before the end of the summer. She wants me out of the picture, except Dad doesn’t see it that way. He says she only wants the best for me.”

Rachel had just been reunited with her daughter. She couldn’t lose her again. “Have you told your father how you feel?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound desperate.

“What do you think? But he only listens to Erika. He listens to practically everything she tells him, and these days she’s telling him that I need a mother. Puh-leeze! Just what I need, a mother who ships her kid off to boarding school. Look, I don’t mind if Dad gets married again. It would be kind of cool to have someone around, someone who could help me with my costumes. But not Erika.”

Rachel didn’t miss the loneliness in her daughter’s voice. “I’d be happy to help you with your costumes,” she said softly.

Megan looked at her thoughtfully, then flashed her a bright smile. “I remember. Handy with a needle, clueless about haystacks.” She lowered her voice. “Get out that needle, Rachel. You might need it as a weapon. Here comes the wicked witch of the West.” She gestured to a slim, petite woman coming up the aisle toward them.

“Get down from there, Megan,” the woman said, approaching the stage. “What’s the matter with you? It’s dangerous in here with all this construction. It’s like a war zone. Where have you been? Your father’s been looking everywhere for you.”

“Hey, don’t aim those fake nails at me,” Megan said, not moving from her perch. “I was only doing what he asked me to do, showing Rachel around. And it’s not dangerous in here. Farley’s way upstage. It’s not like he’s going to drop a hammer on anyone’s head.”

The woman directed her attention to Rachel. “So you’re the new teacher,” she said coolly. “I’m Erika Johnson.”