HY WOULD YOU TEACH the American Revolution at the same time as the Vietnam War?” asked Headmaster Stanton, frowning.

Ten of us—the Headmaster, Dr. Eckhart, seven trustees and me—sat around the vast walnut conference table in Bigby Hall, the main administrative building of Manning, the one that was featured on the cover of all our promotional brochures. I was making my presentation to the Board of Trustees, and I felt ill. I’d been up till 2:00 a.m. perfecting my talk, practicing over and over till I thought I had it right. This morning, I’d gotten up at six, dressed in one of my Wyatt outfits, taking care to combine conservatism with creativity, tamed my hair, ate a good breakfast despite the churning stomach and now was wondering if I should’ve bothered.

It wasn’t going well. I’d finished my talk, and the seven members of the board, including Theo Eisenbraun, Ava’s reputed lover, stared at me with varying degrees of confusion. Dr. Eckhart appeared to be dozing, I noted with rising panic.

“That’s an excellent question,” I said in my best teacher voice. “The American Revolution and the Vietnam War have a lot in common. Most history departments teach chronologically, which, to be honest, I think can get a little stale. But in the Revolution, we have a situation of an invading foreign army up against a small band of poorly armed citizens who won the war through cunning, use of the terrain and just a simple refusal to give up. The same can be said for Vietnam.”

“But they happened in different centuries,” said Adelaide Compton.

“I’m aware of that,” I said, a bit too sharply. “I feel that teaching by theme and not simply by timeline is the way to go. In some cases, anyway.”

“You want to teach a class called ‘The Abuse of Power’?” asked Randall Withington, who’d been a U.S. senator for our fair state some time ago. His already-florid face seemed a bit more mottled than usual.

“I think it’s a very important aspect of history, yes,” I said, cringing internally. Senator Withington had been ousted on charges of corruption and, er, abuse of power.

“Well, this is all very interesting,” said Hunter Graystone III, who was Hunter IV’s father and a Manning alumnus. He indicated my fifty-four-page document—curriculum for all four years, required courses, electives, credits, budget, field trips, staffing suggestions, teaching strategies, the role of parents, meshing the history curriculum with other subjects. I’d color-coded it, included pictures, graphs, charts, had it printed up and bound at Kinko’s. Mr. Graystone had yet to open it. Damn it. I’d given Hunter a B on his midterm (quite fair, let me tell you), and Mr. Graystone had reminded me of this very fact when I introduced myself a half hour ago. “Why don’t you just sum things up for us, Ms. Emerson?”

Dr. Eckhart looked up—not asleep, thank goodness—and gave me a little nod of encouragement.

“Sure,” I said, trying to smile. “Well, here it is in a nutshell.” Taking a deep breath, I decided to give it all I had, my blank-faced audience aside. “I want Manning students to understand the impact of history on where we are today. I want the past to come alive for them, so they can appreciate the sacrifices that have gotten us to this point.” I looked around at each board member in turn, willing them to feel my love for the subject. “I want our students to learn from the past in a way much more profound than memorizing dates. I want them to feel how the whole world shifted because of the act of a single person, whether it was Henry VIII creating a new religion or Dr. King calling for equality on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.”

“And who is Dr. King?” Adelaide asked, frowning.

My mouth dropped open. “Martin Luther King, Jr.? The civil rights activist?”

“Of course. Right. Go on.”

Taking a steadying breath, I continued. “So many kids today see themselves as isolated from even the recent past, disconnected from their country’s policies, living in a world where there are too many distractions from true knowledge. Text messaging, video games, online chatting…they all detract from living in this world and understanding it. These kids have to see where we’ve been and how we got here. They have to! Because it’s our past that determines our future—as individuals, as a nation, as a world. They have to understand the past, because these kids are the future.”

My heart pounded, my face was hot, my hands shook. I took a shaking breath and folded my sweaty hands together. I was finished.

No one said anything. Not a word. Nothing, and not in a good way. Nope, it was fair to say there was the proverbial sound of crickets.

“So…you believe the children are our future,” Theo said, suppressing a grin.

I closed my eyes briefly. “Yes,” I said. “They are. Hopefully, they’ll have the ability to think when the fates call on them to act. So.” I stood up and gathered my papers. “Thank you all so much for your time.”

“That was…very interesting,” Adelaide said. “Er…good luck.”

I was assured that I’d be notified if I got through the next round. They were, of course, looking outside Manning, yadda yadda ding dong, blah blah blah. As for making it to the next round, my chances were dubious. Dubious at best.

Apparently, word of my impassioned speech got out, because when I ran into Ava later that day in the Lehring staff room, she smiled coyly. “Hello, Grace,” she said. Blink…blink…here it comes…and, yes, blink. “How was your presentation to the board?”

“It was great,” I lied. “Very positive.”

“Good for you,” she murmured, washing out her coffee cup, singing as she did. “‘I believe the children are our future…teach them well and let them lead the way—’”

I gritted my teeth. “How did yours go, Ava? Did the push-up bra sway the board in your favor, do you think?”

“Oh, Grace, I feel sorry for you,” she said, pouring herself some more coffee. “It’s not my cleavage they loved, hon. It’s my way with people. Anyway. Best of luck.”

At that moment, Kiki stuck her head in the door. “Grace, got a minute? Oh, hi, Ava, how are you?”

“I’m fantastic, thanks,” Ava half whispered. Blink. Blink. And blink again.

“You okay?” Kiki asked when I came into the hall and closed the door behind me.

“I’m crappy, actually,” I said.

“What happened?”

“My presentation didn’t go very well,” I admitted. All that work reduced to a Whitney Houston song. To my irritable disgust, my throat tightened with tears.

“I’m sorry, kid.” She patted my arm. “Listen, do you want to go to Julian’s Singles’ Dance Night this Friday? Take your mind off your troubles? I still haven’t met someone. God knows why. I’ve been trying those methods from Lou like they were sent from Mount Sinai, you know?”

“Kiki, that class was dumb, don’t you think? Do you really want to trick a guy into dating you by pretending you’re someone you’re not?”

“Is there another way?” she asked. I sighed. “Okay, okay, I know. But come to the dance with me. Please? Just to distract yourself?”

“Yick,” I answered. “I don’t think so.”

She lowered her voice. “Maybe you’ll find someone to take to your sister’s wedding,” she suggested, evil, blackhearted woman that she was.

I grimaced.

“It’s worth a shot,” she cajoled.

“Satan, get thee behind me,” I muttered. “Maybe. I’m not promising, but maybe.”

“Okay, great!” She glanced at her watch. “Dang it, I have to run. Mr. Lucky needs his insulin, and if I’m late, he craps all over the place and then has seizures. Talk to you later!” And she was off, running down the hall to the medical disaster that was her cat.

“Hello, Grace.”

I turned around. “Hi, Stuart! How are you? How’s everything?”

He sighed. “I was hoping you’d tell me.”

I bit down on a wave of impatience. “Stuart, um…listen. You need to do something. I’m not your intermediary, okay? I want very much for you guys to work this out, but you need to take action. Don’t you think so?”

“I just don’t know what action to take,” he protested, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes.

“Well, you’ve been married to her for seven years, Stuart! Come on! Think of something!”

The door to the teacher’s lounge opened. “Is there a problem here?” Ava’s chest said. Well, her mouth said it, but with the amount of boob she was showing today, who could pay attention?

“No, no problem, Ava,” I said shortly. “Private conversation.”

“How are you, Stu?” she purred. “I heard your wife left you. I’m so sorry. Some women just don’t appreciate a truly decent man.” She shook her head sadly, blinked, blinked, blinked, then sashayed down the hall, her ass swaying.

Stuart stared after her.

“Stuart!” I barked. “Go see your wife. Please.”

“Right,” he muttered, tearing his eyes off Ava’s butt. “Will do, Grace.”

LATE THAT EVENING, I sighed, triple circling would of in red pen and writing would HAVE in the margin of Kerry Blake’s paper. I was correcting papers on my bed, as Margaret was using the computer to play Scrabble downstairs in my tiny office. Would of. Come on!

Kerry was a smart enough girl, but even at the age of seventeen, she knew she’d never have to really work for a living. Her mother was a Harvard grad and managing partner at a Boston consulting firm. Her father owned a software company with divisions in four countries, which he often visited in his private jet. Kerry would get into an Ivy League school, regardless of her grades and test scores. And, barring some miracle, if she did decide to work instead of take the Paris Hilton route, she’d probably get some high-paying job with a great office, take three-hour lunches and jet around to meetings, where she’d do a negligible amount of work, taking credit for the grunts who worked under her. If Kerry didn’t know a past participle from a preposition, no one would care.

Except me. I wanted her to use her brain instead of coast on her situation, but Kerry didn’t really care what I thought. That was clear. The board of trustees might well share her ennui.

“Grace!” Margaret’s voice boomed through the house, making Angus jump. I swear, my older sister was becoming more and more like Mémé every day. “I’m making whole grain pasta with broccoli for dinner. Want some?”

I grimaced. “No, thanks. I’ll throw something together later on.” Something with cheese. Or chocolate. Possibly both.

“Roger that. Oh, shit. Stuart’s here.”

Thank God. I leaped to the window, Angus bouncing merrily behind me. Sure enough, my brother-in-law was coming up the path. It was almost dark, but his standard white oxford glowed in the dimming light. I moved out into the hallway to eavesdrop better, shutting the door behind me so Angus wouldn’t blow my cover. Margaret stomped to answer the soft knock. I could see the back of her head, but no more.

“What do you want?” she asked ruthlessly. I detected a note of pleasure under her tone…Stuart was finally doing something, and Margaret appreciated that kind of thing.

“Margaret, I think you should come home.” Stuart’s voice was quiet, and I had to strain to hear. He didn’t say anything else.

“That’s it?” Margaret barked, echoing my own thought. “That’s all you’ve got?”

“What more would you like me to say, Margaret?” he asked wearily. “I miss you. I love you. Come home.”

My eyes were suddenly wet.

“Why? So we can stare at each other every night, bored out of our minds?”

“I never felt that way, Margaret. I was very happy,” Stuart said. “If you don’t want to have a baby, that’s fine, but all these other complaints…I don’t know what you want me to do. I’m no different from how I’ve always been.”

“Which may be the problem,” Margaret said sharply.

Stuart sighed. “If there’s something specific you want me to do, I’ll do it, but you have to tell me. This isn’t fair.”

“If I tell you, then it doesn’t count,” Margaret retorted. “It’s like planned spontaneity, Stuart. An oxymoron.”

“You want me to be unexpected and surprising,” Stuart said, his voice suddenly hard. “Would you like it if I ran naked down Main Street? How about if I started shooting heroin? Shall I have an affair with the cleaning woman? Would that be surprising enough?”

“You’re being deliberately obtuse, Stuart. Until you figure it out, I have nothing to say. Goodbye.” Margaret closed the door and leaned against it, then, a second later, peeked out the transom window. “Goddamn it,” she muttered. I heard the sound of a car motor starting. Apparently, Stuart was gone.

Margaret caught sight of me, crouched at the top of the stairs. “So?” she asked.

“Margaret,” I began cautiously, “he loves you and he wants to make you happy. Doesn’t that count, honey?”

“Grace, it’s not that simple!” she said. “He’d love it if every night of our life was the same as the night before. Dinner. Polite conversation about literature and current events. Sex on the prescribed days. The occasional dinner out, where he takes half an hour to order a bottle of wine. I’m so bored I could scream!”

“Well, here’s what I think, roomie,” I said, my own voice growing hard. “He’s a decent, hardworking, intelligent man and he adores you. I think you’re acting like a spoiled brat.”

“Grace,” she said tightly, “since you’ve never been married, your opinion really doesn’t count a whole heck of a lot right now. So mind your own business, okay?”

“Oh, absolutely, Margs. Hey, by the way, how much longer do you think you’ll be staying?” Sure, it was bitchy, but it felt good.

“Why?” Margaret said. “Am I cutting in on your time with Wyatt?” With that, she stomped back into the kitchen.

Ten minutes later, feeling that I really should have control of my own house and shouldn’t have to hide in my bedroom, I went downstairs. Margaret was standing at the stove, stirring her pasta, tears dripping off her chin. “I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice.

“Sure,” I sighed, my anger evaporating. Margaret never cried. Never.

“I do love him, Grace. I think I do, anyway, but sometimes I just felt like I was suffocating, Grace. Like if I started screaming, he wouldn’t even notice. I don’t want a divorce, but I can’t be married to a piece of cardboard, either. It’s like we work in theory, but when we’re actually together, I’m dying. I don’t know what to do. If just once he could move outside the stupid box, you know? And the idea of a baby…” She started to sob. “It feels like Stuart wanting a baby means I’m not enough anymore. And he was the one who was supposed to adore me.”

“Which he does, Margs!”

She didn’t listen. “Besides, I’m such a bitch, Grace, who would want me for a mother?”

“You’re not a bitch. Not all the time,” I assured her. “Angus loves you. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

“Do you want me to move out? Stay at a hotel or something?”

“No, of course not. You know damn well you can stay with me as long as you want,” I said. “Come on. Give us a hug.”

She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed fiercely. “Sorry about the Wyatt crack,” she muttered.

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, squeezing her back. Angus, jealous that there was love and it wasn’t directed at him, began leaping and whining.

Margaret stepped back, breaking our hug, grabbed a tissue and wiped her eyes. “Want some dinner?” she offered. “I made enough for us both.”

I looked at what she called dinner. “I try to avoid eating rope,” I said, getting a little grin in response. “I’m actually not hungry. Think I’ll just sit outside for a bit.” I poured myself a glass of wine, patted her shoulder to assure her I wasn’t mad, and went out with my dog into the sweet-scented night.

Sitting in an Adirondack chair, I looked around my yard. Angus was sniffing the back fence, patrolling the perimeter like the good guard dog he was. All the flowers I planted last year were coming up beautifully. The peonies along the back fence were heavy with blooms, the sugary smell of their blossoms heady in the night. Bee balm waved over near pine trees that shielded me from 32 Maple, and on Callahan’s side, the irises rose in graceful lines, white and indigo, vanilla and grape scented. The lilacs along the eastern side of the house had faded, but their scent was indescribably lovely, calming and invigorating at the same time. The only sound was of the Farmington River, full and fast at this time of year, gushing over the rocks. A train whistle sounded somewhere, its melancholy note underscoring the loneliness that shrouded my heart.

Why couldn’t people be happy alone? Love took your heart hostage. I’d sell my soul for Margaret and Natalie, my parents, Julian, even sweet little Angus, my faithful friend. As proven by my recent actions, I’d do anything to find someone who’d love me with the same wholeheartedness I wanted to love him. Those distant days with Andrew seemed like they’d happened to someone else. And even if I did find someone, what guarantee was there that it would last? Look at my parents, so pissed off with each other all the time. Margaret and Stuart…seven years crumbling away. Kiki, Julian and me, all floundering.

I seemed to be crying a little bit. I wiped my eyes on my sleeve and took a healthy slug of wine. Stupid love. Margaret was right. Love sucked.

“Grace?”

My head jerked up. Callahan O’ Shea was out on his roof, looking down at me like a blue-collar deus ex machina.

“Hi,” I said.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Oh…sure,” I said. Feeble, even for me.

“Want to come up?”

My answer surprised me. “Okay.”

I left Angus examining a clump of ferns, went through the little gate that separated my backyard from the front, and headed for Callahan’s back deck. The fresh boards, sharp and clean-smelling, glowed dimly in the night, and the metal rungs of the ladder were cool under my hand. Up I went, peeking over the roof to where my neighbor stood.

“Hi,” he said, taking my hand to help me.

“Hi,” I said back. His hand was warm and sure, and I was glad, never being a huge fan of ladders. That hand made me feel safe. Just one hand, that was all it took. It was with great reluctance that I let it go.

A dark-colored blanket was spread on the rough shingles. “Welcome to the roof,” Callahan said. “Have a seat.”

“Thanks.” Self-consciously, I sat down. Cal sat next to me. “So what do you do out here?” I asked, my voice sounding a bit loud in the quiet, cool air.

“I just like to look at the sky,” he answered. But he wasn’t looking at the sky. He was looking at me. “I didn’t get to do that a lot in prison.”

“The sky’s pretty,” I said. Clever, Grace. Very witty. I could feel the warmth of his shoulder next to mine. “So.”

“So.” He was smiling a little, and my stomach did a slow, giddy roll. Then he stretched out so that he was lying on the blanket, clasping his hands behind his head. After a second’s hesitation, I did the same thing.

It was pretty. The stars were winking, the sky velvety and rich. The river’s lush song was pierced by a night bird of some kind, trilling softly every few minutes. And there was Callahan O’ Shea, the solid warmth of him just inches from me.

“Were you crying before?” His voice was gentle.

“A little,” I admitted.

“Everything all right?”

I paused. “Well, Margaret and Stuart are having a tough time of it these days. And my other sister, Nat—remember her?” He nodded. “She’s getting married in a few weeks. I guess I was just feeling sentimental.”

“You and that family of yours,” he commented mildly. “They sure have a choke hold on you.”

“They sure do,” I agreed glumly.

The far-off bird trilled again. Angus barked once in reply. “Were you ever married?” Callahan asked.

“Nope,” I said, staring at the hypnotic stars. “I was engaged a couple of years ago, though.” God. A couple of years ago. It sounded like such a long time.

“Why’d you call it off?”

I shifted to look at him. Nice, that he assumed it had been my decision. Nice, but untrue. “I didn’t, actually. He did. He fell for someone else.” Funny…saying it like that didn’t sound all that bad. He fell for someone else. It happened.

Callahan O’ Shea turned his head. “Sounds like he was an idiot,” he said softly.

Oh. Oh. There it was again, that warm, rolling squeeze of my insides. I swallowed. “He wasn’t that bad,” I said, looking back at the sky. “What about you, Callahan? Ever get close to the altar?”

“I was seeing someone before prison. I guess it was serious.” His voice was level, unperturbed.

“Why’d you guys break up?” I asked.

“Well, we were struggling a bit as it was,” he answered. “But me being arrested was the final nail in my coffin.”

“Do you miss her?” I couldn’t help asking.

“A little,” he said. “Sometimes. It’s like our happy times were in another life, though. I can barely remember them.”

His statement so echoed my own earlier thoughts about Andrew that my mouth opened in amazement. He must’ve noticed my shocked expression, because he smiled. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing. I just…I know how that feels.” We were quiet for another minute, then I asked him another question, one I’d wondered about more than once. “Hey, Cal, I read that you pled guilty. Didn’t you want to go to trial?”

He kept his eyes on the sky and didn’t answer for a second. “There was a lot of evidence against me,” he finally said.

As I had once before, I got the impression that Callahan wasn’t telling me all there was to tell. But it was his crime, his past, and the night and being here were just too comfortable to press on. I was out on the roof with Callahan O’ Shea, and it was enough. It was, in fact, lovely.

“Grace?” God, I loved the way he said my name, his voice deep and soft and with just a hint of roughness in it, like distant thunder on a hot summer night.

I turned my head to look at him, but he was just staring at the stars. “Yes?”

He still didn’t turn my way. “Are you finished with the cat wrangler?”

My heart jolted, my breath froze. For a flash of a second, I imagined telling Callahan the truth about Wyatt Dunn. Imagined him turning to look at me, his expression incredulous, then disgusted, rolling his eyes and muttering something less than flattering about my emotional state. I sure as hell didn’t want that. Callahan O’ Shea was asking if I was done with Wyatt because he…yes, there was no denying it…he was interested. In me.

I bit my lip. “Um…Wyatt’s…he was better on paper than in real life,” I said, swallowing hard. Not exactly a lie. “So yeah. So we called it quits.”

“Good.” Then he did turn to look at me. His face was serious, his eyes unreadable in the dim light from the stars. My heart slowed, and suddenly the smell of lilacs was dizzying. Cal’s lashes were so long, his eyes so lovely. And it was scary, too, looking at him like that, so close and available, so warm and solid.

Very slowly, he reached out to touch my cheek with the back of his fingers. Just a little caress, but I sucked in a sharp breath at the contact. He was going to kiss me. Oh, God. My heart clattered so hard it practically bruised my ribs. Cal smiled.

Then Margaret’s voice split the quiet air. “Grace? Grace, where are you? Nat’s on the phone!”

“Coming!” I called, abruptly lurching to my feet. At the realization that his mistress was on the roof, Angus exploded into yarps, breaking the quiet into shards of noise. “Sorry, Cal. I—I have to go.”

“Coward,” he said, but he was smiling.

I took another step closer to the ladder, then stopped. “Maybe I could come back up here again sometime,” I said.

“Maybe you could,” he agreed, sitting up in one quick, graceful move. “I hope you do.”

“Gotta run,” I breathed, then scuttled down the ladder as fast as I could. Cal’s low, ashy laugh followed me as I trotted into my own yard where Angus finally quieted. My heart thundered as if I’d run a mile.

“What were you doing out there?” Margaret hissed as I burst onto the patio. “Were you up there with Callahan?”

“Hi, Margaret,” Cal called from his roof.

“What were you guys doing up there?” she called back.

“Monkey sex,” he answered. “Wanna give it a try?”

“Don’t tempt me, Bird Man of Alcatraz,” she said, shoving the phone into my hand.

“Hello?” I panted.

“Hi, Grace. I’m sorry. Was I interrupting?” Nat’s voice was small.

“Oh, no. I was just…” I cleared my throat. “Just talking to Callahan next door. What’s up?”

“Well, I was wondering if you were free this Saturday,” she said. “Do you have anything at school? Or any battles?”

I went through the slider into the kitchen and glanced at my calendar. “Nope. All clear.”

“Think you’d like to go dress shopping with me?”

My head jerked back slightly. “Sure!” I said heartily. “What time?”

“Um, maybe around three?” Nat sounded so hesitant that I could tell something was wrong.

“Three would be great,” I answered.

“You sure?”

“Yes! Of course, Bumppo. Why do you sound so weird?”

“Margaret said maybe I should cut you a break and go without you.”

Good old Margs. My older sister was right—it would be awfully nice to skip out on this particular wedding event, but I had to go. “I want to come, Nat,” I said. Part of me did, at any rate. “I’ll see you at three.”

“Why do you baby her so much?” Margaret demanded the minute I hung up. Angus raced in, almost tripping her, but she ignored him. “Tell her to open her eyes and think of someone else for a change. She’s not lying in a hospital bed anymore, Grace.”

“I know that, Margaret dear. But for crying out loud, it’s her wedding dress. And I’m over Andrew. I don’t care if she’s marrying him, she’s our little sister and we should both be there.”

Margaret dropped into a kitchen chair and picked up Angus, who licked her chin with great affection. “Princess Natalie. God forbid she think of someone else for a change.”

“She’s not like that! God, Margs, why do you give her such a hard time?”

Margaret shrugged. “Maybe I think she needs a little hard time once in a while. She’s lived a charmed life, Grace. Adored, beautiful, smart. She gets everything.”

“Unlike your poor, orphaned, troll-like self?” I asked.

“Yes, I’m all soft edges and peachy glow.” She sighed. “You know what I’m talking about, Grace. Admit it. Nat has glided through life on a fluffy white cloud with a fucking rainbow over her head while bluebirds sang all around her. Me, I’ve stomped through life, and you…you’ve…” Her voice broke off.

“I’ve what?” I asked, bristling.

She didn’t answer for a second. “You’ve hit a few walls.”

“Andrew, you mean?”

“Well, sure. But remember when we first moved to Connecticut, and you were kind of lost?” Sure I remembered. Back when I was dating Jack of Le Cirque. Margaret continued. “And that year you lived with Mom and Dad after college, when you waitressed for a year?”

“I was taking time off to figure out what I wanted to do,” I bit out. “Plus, waitressing is a life skill I’ll always have.”

“Sure. Nothing wrong with that. It’s just that Nat’s never had to wonder, never been lost, never doubted herself, never imagined that life would be anything less than perfect for her. Until she met Andrew and finally found something she couldn’t have, which you ended up giving her. So if I think she’s a little self-centered, that’s why.”

“I think you’re jealous of her,” I said, smarting.

“Of course I’m jealous of her, dummy,” Margaret said fondly. Honestly, I would never figure Margaret out. “Hey,” she added, “what were you doing up on that roof with Hottie the Hunk Next Door?”

I took a deep breath. “We were just looking at the sky. Talking.”

Margaret squinted at me. “Are you interested in him, Grace?”

I could feel myself blushing. “Sort of. Yes. Definitely. I am.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Margs gave me her pirate smile.

“So?”

“So nothing. He’s a huge improvement on Andrew the Pale. God, imagine screwing Callahan O’ Shea. Just his name practically gives me an orgasm.” She laughed, and I smiled reluctantly. Margaret stood up and patted my shoulder. “Just make sure you’re not doing it to show Andrew that there’s a man who wants what’s in your pants, okay?”

“Wow. That’s so romantic, I think I might cry.”

She grinned again like the pirate she should’ve been. “Well, I’m beat. I have to write a brief and then I’m hitting the hay. ’Night, Gracie.” She handed me my wee doggie, who rested his head on my shoulder and sighed with devotion. “And, Grace, one more thing as long as I’m doing the big sister shtick.” She sighed. “Look. I know you’re trying to move on and all that crap, and I don’t blame you. But no matter how great Cal looks without a shirt, he’s always going to have a prison record, and these things have a habit of following a person around.”

“I know,” I admitted. Ava and I had both made it to the second round of interviews for the chairmanship, much to my surprise. I still wasn’t entirely hopeful, but Margs was right. Callahan O’ Shea’s past would matter at Manning. Maybe it shouldn’t, but it would.

“Just be sure you know what you want, kiddo,” Margs said. “That’s all I’m saying. I think Cal’s pretty damn fun, and you could probably use some fun. But keep in mind that you’re a teacher at a prep school, and this just might matter to the good people at Manning. Not to mention Mom and Dad.”

I didn’t answer. As usual, Margaret was right.