Tracy took a moment. After a couple of deep breaths she started to pull herself together. She knew she had to apologize and get out. Her voice was just short of a croak. “I’m so sorry I dumped all this on you. And I’m sorry I came in with so much attitude. I sound like a crazy woman. I’m surprised you haven’t called the men with the butterfly nets.”
“Can you imagine a world where we really had men like that? We’d all be on the run.” Mrs. Woodley smiled, and Tracy managed a watery smile in return.
“Thank you.” Her voice sounded a shade more normal, and the tears had finally slowed to a moppable trickle. “And please, please, you won’t tell anybody about this, will you? I really will sound like a nutcase.”
“I won’t, but really? You would only sound like a woman under some serious stress. Do you need this job?”
Tracy nodded. “Money’s tight. But I guess I can work at the yacht club. The event planner’s interested. Only…”
“What?”
“I don’t want to.”
“And you want to work here?”
“I’m a pretty good swim instructor. And I’d be happier in this environment.” Tracy had parted with enough of her life story not to want to go into her reasons.
“Shall I look at the résumé now?”
Tracy couldn’t believe Mrs. Woodley still wanted to. She handed it over meekly. “Just wait until I leave before you tear it up, okay?”
“My goodness, you have a degree in recreation and leisure studies?”
“I know it’s hard to believe.”
“And lots of experience with tournaments, I see. And a variety of social activities.”
“Volunteer, mostly, although you’ll see I taught swimming in college. And I did a little work for our local park organizing a new swim program before I got engaged. I should have stayed with the program and told CJ to kiss off.”
“I will pass this on to Mr. Woodley.” Mrs. Woodley smiled. “That makes me sound very Victorian, don’t you think? Mr. Woodley? Everybody calls him Woody, including me.”
“What do they call you?”
“Gladys.”
Tracy liked her. More than that, she admired her for being both forthright and kind. “I’d appreciate your help, Gladys. And thank you. Again.”
“If you still need to talk, I’ll be here.”
Tracy thought about that on her way out to the car. Embarrassment was creeping in. She had behaved like a complete idiot. Maybe she needed a psychiatrist, only she couldn’t afford one. She was one of those millions of Americans without health insurance. When she sold Happiness Key, she ought to check herself in to some clinic and figure out when and why she’d gotten so mental. Other people got divorced. Other people didn’t sob all over strangers. They picked up and went on. The way she’d thought she was doing.
She was deep in thought—a more or less unfamiliar destination—when a missile slammed into her.
“Oof!” Instinctively Tracy threw her arms out and grabbed. The missile was medium-size and warm, and it smelled like bubble gum.
Once she realized what she held, she thrust the boy away from her, but she didn’t let go. Instead she tightened her grip on his shoulders.
“You almost knocked me over!”
“Y’oughta watch where you’re going!”
“I know where I was going. I just didn’t expect to get tackled.”
“So? You were in my way.”
“Yeah? Well, that’s going to happen a lot, kid. Because you have to stop for other people if they happen to be there first.”
“Let go of me.”
She was about to, more than a little anxious to be done with the boy, when she noticed he was looking frantically over his shoulder as he wriggled in her grip.
“Wait just a minute.” She held him tighter. “Who are you running away from?”
“Nobody!”
“School’s not out yet, is it? What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in class somewhere?”
“You heard of homeschooling?” he yelled.
For a moment Tracy wondered, then she shook her head. Nobody had the patience to homeschool this kid. Even the most committed parents would need school hours to regain their equilibrium.
“I don’t see a mother or father coming up behind you,” Tracy told him.
“They let me off. I’ve got, ummm…tennis lessons.”
“Not during school hours you don’t,” Tracy said, making an educated guess. “They don’t teach youth tennis until later in the afternoon.”
“Let go of me!” He looked over his shoulder again and struggled harder. Then he turned and kicked Tracy in the shin.
She yelped, dropping her hands to hold the abused leg while hopping up and down on the other one.