Jamie couldn’t have been more opposite—outwardly, at least—to Trevor’s late wife, Melanie. Melanie had been quiet, dignified, so prim and neatly groomed as to be almost porcelain perfect. She’d had a sense of humor, but it had been understated, restrained. If someone had put them side by side, one might have compared Jamie to the sun—bright, conspicuous, hot—and Melanie to the moon—pale, quiet, cool. Like the moon, Melanie had kept her dark side hidden, even from her husband.
Abbie interrupted his uncharacteristic daydreaming by banging her spoon on the tray of her high chair. She squealed in delight at the ensuing clang and did it again. Trevor reached over to catch her hand. “No, Abbie. Eat,” he said, redirecting her attention to the bite-size pieces of food on the unbreakable plate in front of her.
Gazing at him with blue eyes that were exactly like her mother’s, Abbie gave him a slobbery grin. “Daddy,” she said.
His throat contracted, a now-familiar mixture of love and heartache he often felt when he looked at his tiny daughter. “Eat your dinner, Abbie,” he repeated a bit gruffly, holding a slice of banana to her rosy lips.
Once she was busy with her food again, he turned back to his own plate. His gaze collided abruptly with Jamie’s across the table, and he resisted the impulse to squirm in his seat. He couldn’t read her expression, but he had the uncomfortable sensation that she saw entirely too much when she looked at him.
As was often the case, Bobbie dominated the dinner conversation. Trevor loved his mother and knew she had a kind heart and a generous nature, but he wasn’t blind to her bossiness or her penchant for being a little overbearing. While there were a few people who couldn’t stand her, most folks overlooked her shortcomings in favor of her many good qualities. She’d been teaching in elementary school since before Trevor was born, and few questioned her competence—or her knack for running the most efficient and well-behaved classrooms in the school.
At the moment, she was on a diatribe about an incident that had happened to her through the locally owned bank where Emily had worked for several years, before quitting to be a full-time mother.
“All this new technology that’s supposed to make things easier for the customers—it’s just a lot of garbage,” Bobbie said bluntly. “I called yesterday to see if a check had cleared, and I spent forty-five minutes on the telephone with some girl giving me directions on how to use the new automated teller service. I told her I don’t want to talk to a recorded teller, and she said I had to learn how, because it would be much more ‘convenient’ for me in the long run. I want to know what’s ‘convenient’ about having to punch in a half-dozen code numbers and then listen to a recording I can hardly understand, hmm? She could have given me the information I needed in less than five minutes. Laziness, that’s what it is. No one wants to provide personal service anymore.”
“The automated teller system really isn’t that complicated once you learn it, Aunt Bobbie,” Emily responded, but even she didn’t look particularly convinced by her words.
“‘Automated teller.”’ The very term seemed to enrage Bobbie. “I’ll tell you the same as I told that girl. If everything’s going to be automated down there, why do they need a staff?”
“She’s got a point there, Emily,” Wade murmured, seeming to enjoy his wife’s discomfort.
Having gotten her complaint out of her system, Bobbie abruptly changed the subject. “I talked to Arnette Lynch yesterday,” she said, looking at Jamie as she mentioned the recently retired high-school drama teacher.
“How is her husband?” Jamie inquired politely.
“Still very weak from his chemotherapy treatments, I’m afraid, but Arnette said she thought he was feeling a bit better. She’s confident she made the right decision in retiring.”
“I’m sure she did.”
“I’m so glad you were available to take her place. The students are thrilled to have a real theater veteran teaching them.”
“I enjoy working with young actors,” Jamie responded. “They’re so eager and energetic. And some of them are quite talented.”
“What does talent have to do with casting an Honoria High School production?” Emily asked dryly. “Mrs. Lynch always gave the lead roles to the students from the most prominent local families, regardless of whether they could act or sing.”
Bobbie frowned. “That’s not a very kind thing to say, Emily.”
“But it’s true, Aunt Bobbie. I saw the performance of West Side Story last fall, remember? Mayor McQuade’s strawberry-blond, freckled daughter Joannie played Maria. No way did she look Puerto Rican—and the poor girl couldn’t act her way out of a paper bag.”
“Couldn’t sing worth a flip, either,” Caleb muttered. “Sounded like a cat with its tail caught in a wringer. It was all I could do to sit through the whole show—and that was only because Bobbie had a death grip on my arm to keep me from leaving.”
“Mrs. Lynch cast the popular, socially prominent kids back when I was in high school,” Trevor agreed bluntly. “Everyone always knew who would have the best roles—and they were rarely the best qualified.”
Jamie nodded somberly. “You never saw me hold the lead role at good ol’ HHS, did you?”
Trevor thought he heard a touch of old resentment in her voice.
“I was always lucky to get a few lines,” she continued, “even though Mrs. Lynch told me several times that she thought I had real talent.”
Wade, who’d moved to Honoria only a couple of years earlier, looked startled. “If she thought you had talent, how did she justify not giving you better roles?”
Jamie shrugged, and Trevor suspected there was a world of emotion hidden behind her matter-of-fact tone. “She said she would face too much controversy if she tried to buck the established system. She was afraid it would cut into her contributions and jeopardize her ability to fund her productions. She knew my folks wouldn’t put up a fuss if I was slighted—unlike, say, the O’Briens or some of the other local society leaders.”
Wade scowled. “Sounds like it was long past time for her to retire.”
“She did the best she could,” Bobbie said in defense of her colleague. “You know how difficult it can be to challenge the established order, Wade. You’ve had your share of criticism because you refuse to look the other way when some of the richer folks bend a few laws.”
“The laws aren’t any different for people with money than they are for people without,” Wade said flatly.
Emily looked speculatively at Jamie. “I hear you’re planning to do Grease in the spring. You know Joannie McQuade’s going to demand the role of Sandy.”
“None of my students will ‘demand’ a role—they’ll audition,” Jamie asserted. “If they’re good, they’ll get a part. If they show potential, I’ll work with them until they’re ready. If they show no glimmer of talent, I’ll let them be extras, or assign them other responsibilities. There are a lot of interesting jobs in theater besides acting—lighting, set design and construction, sound, publicity, costumes, stage management.”
“You’d make Joannie McQuade an extra?” Wide-eyed, Emily shook her head. “Her mother will be at the school to try to get you fired before you can say, ‘Cut!”’
Trevor noted that Jamie didn’t look notably intimidated. “I’ve spent seven years working in New York. I can handle Charlotte McQuade.”
Emily made a