A Mother's Reflection. Elissa Ambrose

      “And that is…?”

      “I’m tired of the city. I find it too large, too impersonal. I want to live in a small, old-fashioned community. Like you said earlier, apple pie, that sort of thing. You know what I mean, where everyone knows everyone’s business.” As long as no one finds out mine, she thought.

      “You seem to have developed a few notions,” he said testily. “It’s true that we’re a close-knit group, but we’re not a bunch of hicks. We nurture the same interest in the arts as do the larger cities, and we don’t take well to being patronized.”

      “You don’t understand. I wasn’t—”

      “Tell me what makes Rachel Hartwell tick.”

      What was he getting at? What could she say that would persuade him to hire her? Then it dawned on her. He was talking about character. “I sent you a list of references. Didn’t you receive it with my résumé?”

      None of the people on the list knew anything about her past. Equally important, the school where she taught was closed for the summer. She didn’t want anyone there to know she might not be returning. At this point it wouldn’t be wise to burn her bridges behind her. Eventually Adam would want to speak to someone regarding her most recent employment, but verification would have to wait until fall. By then, if everything went as planned, it wouldn’t matter.

      But if her plan failed, she would return to Hartford. She couldn’t remain in Middlewood, knowing that Megan was so close yet so out of reach. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life looking around every corner, down every street, hoping to catch a glimpse of her daughter, living solely for those moments.

      “You still don’t get it,” Adam said, his gaze boring into her. “I want you to tell me why I should give you this job. Give me one good, concrete reason.”

      She tried to think of a reply that would please him yet be true to her ideals. “I know what it’s like to have a dream,” she said finally. “I also know what it’s like to have no one to help you nurture that dream. Some children want to be doctors, some firefighters. I wanted to be a skater—but competition was out of the question. Everyone knows how expensive that route is, and now, of course, I’m too old to compete. But if I can make a difference in someone’s life, if I can help a child realize his or her dream, then I’ll feel as if I’ve succeeded.”

      The words she spoke were true. All her life she’d had a need to nurture. When she was small, she’d brought home every stray cat in the neighborhood, and when she was older, she’d gone out of her way to take the side of the underdog. Her mother used to chide her endlessly. “Lie down with dogs and you’ll get up with fleas,” she used to say.

      “You realize that working here would mean a decrease in salary,” Adam said, glancing at her résumé. “This is a community center, not a private school.”

      “I want to work in a more liberal environment,” she said honestly. She wasn’t thrilled about taking a cut in pay—paying rent on two apartments would be expensive and the months ahead would be lean—but she was looking forward to working in a more relaxed environment. She was tired of the senseless customs, the strict dress code, the arbitrary rules imposed by the school where she taught. “Besides,” she added, “there are benefits. For example, the arena. I still love skating, even though it’s no longer my life dream. And it’s not as rushed here in Middlewood as it is in the city.” This time she was careful not to use the term old-fashioned. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

      The interview wasn’t going as she expected. He was supposed to ask her a few perfunctory questions and get on with it, but the closed look on his face told her he didn’t buy what she was saying. Anyone with half a mind could see that she was perfect for the job. What was he getting at?

      “Unfortunately, I don’t think this is going to work out,” he said.

      Unfortunately? Was this what it all came down to? All her hopes crushed with one dismissive word? “I don’t understand. Won’t you just—”

      “Do I look like Grace? Puh-leeze!”

      A young girl with the brightest red hair Rachel had ever seen had barged into the office. “Will you puh-leeze inform Erika that I have no intention of playing Grace? What’s the matter with that woman? Can’t she see I’m meant to be Annie?”

      In that moment reality merged with dream, and Rachel wasn’t sure if she’d just awakened or fallen asleep. The room around her blurred, and she had to blink to hold back tears that were threatening to steal from her eyes. Tears of joy at seeing her daughter. Tears of joy at hearing her voice.

      Adam had asked for one good reason, a concrete reason. There she was, her hands on her hips, scowling in the doorway.

      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