“Six o’clock?” he said.

She blinked. “Why does that remind me of five hundred dollars?”

He stared at her. “I have no idea.”

“Six,” she agreed, and he nodded.

“Thanks for lunch.”

He got another one of those impish grins. “Thanks for not dropping a tree on my house.”

“Bad for the insurance rates,” he said laconically, and let the screen door slam behind him while he sat down on the porch to lace up his boots.

WHEN JOE HAD ASKED about Nicole, the very mention of her name had been enough to prick Teresa with exasperation, amusement, puzzlement, frustration and even reluctant admiration. She’d no doubt gotten an odd look on her face. There was a good reason for it. In the past week, Nicole had obviously changed her tactics. Teresa wasn’t foolish enough to think she’d given up.

For example, last Wednesday Nicole had gone along sweetly and willingly to register at the high school. When Teresa stared doubtfully up at the building and said, “Gee, it’s kinda ugly, isn’t it?” Nicole didn’t jump right on her mother’s minor criticism and try to make something major out of it.

Instead, she gave a dainty shrug and said, “It probably doesn’t matter, as long as the district has spent their money where it counts.”

What kid ever thought of a school district in terms of a limited budget and priorities? Not Nicole, that was for sure. Wary, Teresa trailed her up the wide stairs and in the double doors.

Sounding sanctimonious, her daughter whispered, “Don’t they have handicapped access?”

“I’m sure they do,” Teresa returned dryly.

The guidance counselor in the office was friendly. She agreed to put Nicole in third year French even though the class was technically full. Nicole’s face fell with exaggerated disappointment as she examined the offerings.

“Oh, I was really looking forward to taking song writing this year.”

“Maybe you should worry about bringing your algebra grade up, instead,” her mother suggested.

The counselor had a twinkle in her eye. “Perhaps you’d like to try drama, Nicole. You look like acting might come naturally.”

“Only if it’s in the form of melodrama,” Teresa muttered.

Her daughter gave her a glare. “Yeah, okay,” she said to the counselor. “Why not? There isn’t anything else.”

“It’s too bad you missed new-student orientation,” the counselor concluded brightly, “but there’s no reason you and your mother can’t wander around the building right now. Here’s a map, so you can find your classrooms—”

“Are the rooms unlocked?” Nicole sounded so earnest Teresa was immediately suspicious.

“Why, yes, I think so. You’ll probably find some of the teachers—getting ready for the onslaught tomorrow.”

“Can we look around?” Nicole asked when they left the office.

“Well, of course.” Teresa nodded at the map and schedule Nicole carried. “What’s your first class?”

“Um…algebra. Room 233.” She peered around doubtfully. “Are we on the second floor here, do you think?”

They were; 233 was just down the hall. Nicole insisted on glancing in. It looked like any other classroom to Teresa, if a little old-fashioned. The ceilings were high, the woodwork dark, and a smell of floor polish was underlaid with that of chalk and the pages of new textbooks, piled on a table by the door.

The chemistry lab looked perfectly adequate to Teresa, as well; Nicole critiqued it as they wandered between high black-topped tables furnished with microscopes and glass beakers and petri dishes. Teresa, filled with nostalgia for her own high-school days, was able to tune her daughter out. She’d had a mad crush on her biology/chemistry teacher, in part because he inspired her with his own passionate interest in the unseen organisms that cause disease or well-being. It had taken her a while to realize she was more excited by cell division than she was by him.

They progressed to the library, where Nicole prowled the shelves, returning to announce, “This collection is ancient! How does anybody do any research here?”

“Fortunately White Horse belongs to an excellent public library system,” Teresa reminded her. “In fact, the local branch isn’t two blocks from here. You can go over there on your way home from school.”

Her daughter frowned at her. “Don’t you think they ought to have a better school library?”

“Yep. I’ll join the PTA and campaign for a bigger book budget.”

“Fat lot of good that’ll do me,” Nicole muttered.

“Probably not,” Teresa admitted, “but it might achieve something before Mark gets to high school.”

“I suppose you think his education is more important than mine!”

Teresa gave an inward sigh. “You know that isn’t true. But I see no reason you won’t get a perfectly adequate education here. Let’s face it, at this level it’s the teacher that counts. The teacher, and the effort you are willing to expend.” She added some briskness to her voice. “If you get bored, next year you can start taking some classes at the community college in Everett.”

“I’m supposed to be happy when you pulled me out of a great high school—”

“Rife with drugs and gangs.”

“—and moved me here.” Examining a banner decorating the wall above a bank of metal lockers, Nicole curled her lip. “This one is full of Future Farmers of America.” Every word was a sneer. “What am I supposed to do, learn how to milk a cow?”

“Wouldn’t hurt. I had to,” Teresa said unsympathetically. “Have you seen enough? Shall we go find Mark?”

Rolled eyes. “Yeah, I’ve seen enough.”

Outside they found Mark involved in an impromptu soccer game with a bunch of boys who ranged from third or fourth grade on up to middle-school age. He trotted over.

“Can I stay awhile, Mom? For an hour or two?”

“You bet.” She cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. “Have fun.”

Nicole turned the full battery of entreaty on her from wide brown eyes. “Since we have an hour, can we go shopping, Mom? Please?”

Teresa hated to shop. She didn’t care about clothes, seldom bothered with makeup, couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn a dress. How she’d given birth to a child obsessed with appearances would forever remain a mystery to her.

But this struck her as an intelligent moment to compromise. “Fine. We’ll see what the town has to offer.”

A smug smile curled her daughter’s pale mouth. Because she’d won? Or because she figured she had a chance to show her mother how inadequate White Horse was? Self-absorbed as she was, she probably hadn’t noticed that Teresa visited malls only under duress.

Teresa decided the answer was the latter when she shocked Nicole out of her socks by actually finding an outfit she liked. White Horse only had two clothing stores. One of them had beautiful, high-quality casual clothes for women. Teresa looked around happily. “I’ll never have to hit the mall again. I’ll just come in here and snap something up.”

“But this is old-lady stuff!”

“You mean, it’s not teenage stuff. I am not a teenager, believe it or not.” She headed for a display of cotton sweaters.

“Mo-om.”

She waved Nicole off. “Let me try these things on.”

Twenty minutes later, she paid for a pair of slim-fitting pants, a tunic-length sweater and a chunky silver necklace to wear over it.

A very sulky teenager followed her out onto the sidewalk. “Where am I supposed to shop?”

“The Everett Mall is only forty-five minutes away.”

“Everett!”

“Bellevue Square isn’t much over an hour. Surely some of those friends who used to pick you up every morning will come up here and get you once in a while.”

“Oh, right.” Nicole flung herself into the passenger seat of the car and slumped down, her expression tight. “They’re supposed to drive for almost four hours just to see me.”

Once behind the wheel, Teresa studied her daughter. She looked and sounded so unhappy Teresa reached out and stroked her hair. “Sweetheart—”