Her bedroom didn’t take long, either. Everything that had been on the closet shelf was already packed in totes piled in the garage. She retrieved suitcases from the garage and filled the big one with her clothes and shoes. The medium-sized suitcase should handle a basic wardrobe for Josh—his sports stuff could go in the duffel—and Jenna had her own small pink rolling suitcase.
Both of them would want some of their toys, games and books, but they wouldn’t need all. Especially books—they’d visit the library more often.
In front of her dresser, she sank to her butt in sudden exhaustion and leaned against her bed. This was crazy. Why had she agreed to do it?
She looked around her bedroom, both familiar and, weirdly, not. Kyle’s half of the closet was already empty, as was his dresser. During the sleepless night after her discovery that he’d cashed out the life-insurance policy, she’d grabbed garbage bags and gone through all his stuff. She’d dropped most of it at a thrift store the very next day. Part of her was grateful for the anger that had carried her through such a horrible task. She’d packed a single box of his things that she or one of the kids might someday want, including a few shirts that had evoked him so vividly she had pressed the soft fabric to her face and cried.
Her mood was odd tonight, maybe because she was so tired Anna wondered if Kyle would even know her now. She didn’t belong in this bedroom anymore. The bed was going into storage; she’d decide later whether she wanted to replace it. Her dresser could go in the bedroom closet in the apartment. In fact, she’d take over the closet, since the kids didn’t need to hang up any of their clothes. They’d share one dresser—Josh’s, since it was taller—and the coat closet was the perfect place for his sports equipment. She hoped Molly didn’t mind hanging around the soccer field during his practices and games.
Still feeling strange, Anna told herself it was too late for second thoughts. Tomorrow night, she’d sleep on her sofa in that small, bare apartment. She’d work for a man who made her uncomfortable in a thousand ways, starting with his too-perceptive gray eyes and obvious wealth.
No, she reminded herself, she wouldn’t see much of him, anyway. And why get worked up about what was really only going to be an interlude?
* * *
NATE’S CONCENTRATION WASN’T the best Tuesday.
He’d started the day by calling the elementary school in Seattle where Molly had spent only a few weeks to let them know he was withdrawing her. Then he’d driven her to the school she’d attended for kindergarten and first grade, explained the situation and enrolled her. Trying to put her at ease, the principal decided to fit her into Josh’s class. Nate didn’t comment, but wasn’t so sure that would help. Surrounded by his crowd of buddies, Josh might not be willing to speak to a mere girl. Nate reminded himself that she’d probably know some of the other kids in the class.
He and the principal walked Molly to her new second-grade classroom. Absolute silence fell as they entered. Every single student stared as the principal explained quietly to the teacher, a Mrs. Tate, that she had an addition to her class. Molly seemed to become smaller and smaller, looking at her feet as she gripped his hand so tightly he suspected she was cutting off his circulation.
Fortunately, Mrs. Tate was young and immediately friendly, beaming at Molly as she welcomed her and said, “Class, we have a new student. Some of you will remember Molly Kendrick from last year.” Then she looked around her room. “Let’s see. Where shall we put you?”
A girl’s voice rang out. “Molly can sit with us! Put her here.”
Molly sucked in a breath and raised her head. “Arianna?”
He bent to murmur, “Is she a friend?”
“She was one of my bestest friends last year.” Molly dropped his hand, and Mrs. Tate escorted her to a square of four desks put together. One was empty, at least for today.
Grateful to see he was forgotten, Nate had returned to the office to revise the short list of people authorized to pick up his daughter. The list had remained in her file from last year. With Anna’s name added, he’d finally headed for work, arriving only two hours later than usual.
Then, instead of accomplishing anything meaningful, Nate worried about whether yanking Molly out of class and dropping her into a new one several weeks into the year was the right thing to do. He had no trouble imagining what Sonja would have to say about it.
How much change was too much for his little girl? Given that she’d probably have to switch back to the other school four weeks from now, she might have been better off if he’d continued to drive her to the school in Seattle and pick her up. Sonja would accuse him of selfishness and might even be right—but he’d be restricted to six-hour workdays instead of his usual ten or more. He couldn’t ask Anna to do all that driving, especially not in her old car. He could just imagine her response if he offered to buy her a new one. If he had to get Molly to school and pick her up when it let out, he could do some work from home while Anna kept an eye on Molly, but he couldn’t meet with anyone or extend his day for drinks or working dinners. It just wasn’t feasible.
Too late, anyway. Nate consoled himself that Molly hadn’t seemed to like her previous teacher very much. Maybe when she had to return to that school, they’d agree to shift her to another class. Or maybe that would be one too many changes.
He groaned and scrubbed his scalp, glad he was currently alone.
He also called Anna several times, once to be sure the moving truck had shown up, and then again to confirm she was at the house before the end of the school day. Had she remembered to contact the school to let them know which bus Josh was supposed to ride?
“Yes,” she said, almost patiently, “I went by in person so they know our current address. I also picked up some groceries. I’ll put dinner on for you and Molly. If she’s hungry before you get home, she can eat with us and you can reheat your meal.”
Nate opened his mouth to tell her she didn’t have to cook for him—and shut it again. Damn, it would be good to walk in the door to a home-cooked meal. To know Molly would be taken care of if he ran late here at the office, although that was unlikely to happen today. He already itched to get home. So he said only, “Thank you. Josh didn’t have practice today?”
“No, they’re Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Games Saturday.”
“That’s quite a schedule.”
“He loves it.” Her voice became quieter. “He was really mad at me when we thought we’d have to move before the end of the season.”
“When’s that?” Nate asked.
“November. Depending on the weather, those last games are miserable.”
They were conversing. Even though a beep told him he had a call coming in, he didn’t want to end this one.
“Rain and snow, huh?”
“Frozen feet and muddy kid,” she agreed. “Josh plays goalie a lot, and once the weather turns, there’s always a mud hole right in front of the goal.”
Nate grinned. “I played youth football when I wasn’t much older than Josh. Same season. I loved mud.”
She sighed. “So does he. I’ve learned to keep a ratty old towel in the car for him to sit on.”
Nate laughed, but after the conversation ended, he didn’t immediately check missed calls. Instead, he pondered why Molly hadn’t played any sports. Swim lessons in the summer, essential when she’d lived on the lake, and that was it. Did any of her friends play soccer? He wondered if she’d like to try it next year. To his recollection, she’d never participated in any after-school youth activities. And that got him to wondering whether Sonja had had her first glass of white wine a lot earlier in the day than he’d realized, and had developed a problem with booze a lot longer ago than he’d realized, too. With the hours he worked, she could have hidden