wreaked a havoc in his life that he wasn't properly qualified to cope with, and no amount of civic duty would reconcile him to making that mistake again.
Besides, his daughter hated Katherine and would sooner accompany a salamander to church.
Remembering the light in his daughter's eyes as she mentioned her after-school teacher, Axell grimaced and rubbed his hand over his face. He had some recollection of the prior owner of that junk shop being arrested on drug charges. Had the gypsy woman mentioned something about a sister?
Maybe he better investigate his daughter's after-school teacher a little further. He didn't need Constance becoming enraptured with drug dealers.
He dropped his head in his hands. His life would become a fishbowl if he ran for mayor. Constance had enough problems without that kind of scrutiny.
They'd both have worse problems if he lost his alcohol license and his business.
Hell, maybe he ought to close the school.
Except—for the first time in two years—Constance was talking again, and the blamed schoolteacher was the reason.
Chapter 3
If—a two letter word for futility.
"Look, girl, if Axell Holm offered to help us, we'd be fools to turn him away. Do you want the school to close?"
Maya huddled the phone receiver against her ear and stroked Matty's hair. He'd had a nightmare, and she'd carried him into the big water bed with her a little while ago. He'd fallen directly to sleep once he was beside her, so she couldn't complain. His learning disabilities caused some frustration—mostly for her because she blamed Cleo—but for the most part, he was the soul of sweetness. Matty seldom gave her reason for complaint.
Life, on the other hand, was a real roller coaster ride.
She stared up at the cracked ceiling of her sister's shop apartment. The tiny salary the school partnership paid was the only shoestring keeping her off welfare. Cleo's shop was in such financial ruin, it scarcely earned enough to cover outstanding debts, although the free apartment was a boon. No, she couldn't afford to see the school close.
"Why can't you talk to him? You know more about this town and running a business than I do. He's a Virgo, Selene. We don't even speak the same language."
"Honey, I hate to tell you, but you don't talk the same language as anybody around here. I don't know what they taught you out there in California, but it flat out has nothing to do with the Carolinas. You want to make it in this town, you'd better learn to talk the talk."
If. Maya closed her eyes and wrinkled her nose. That was a mighty big if. She and Cleo had spent the better part of their lives drifting from town to town, house to house, like tumbleweeds, never knowing the meaning of roots. Unlike the Axell Holms of this world, they had no place to call their own and no reason to stay anywhere.
She'd always figured wherever she slept was home. Glancing down at the sleeping five-year-old beside her warned she had a different responsibility now. Until Cleo was free, Wadeville was home. Maybe Stephen would have won a Grammy by then, and she could hit him for child support. She could always hitch a ride on dreams.
Grimacing, she dropped back to reality. "All right. I'll talk to Holm, but I think he's looking for a compromise, and I'm warning you now, Selene, I don't do compromise. If you're going to make me swim upstream, baby, I swim hard."
Selene sighed into the phone. "Heaven forbid I should understand what that means. If you're going to be a partner in this business, you have to do what's best for all. I'm holding you to that."
Maya wrinkled her nose as she hung up the phone a few minutes later. Her Pisces nature really preferred going with the flow over swimming upstream, but she had others to think of besides herself now. For Matty and the baby, she'd jump waterfalls and dams. Talking to a stuck-up yuppie couldn't be that difficult.
* * *
"Axell, dear, I know you try, but it's quite obvious Constance is unhappy. You have your hands full running a business"—the word quivered with disapproval—"and with the town council, and besides, you're a man. You can't possibly understand the needs of a little girl. She needs a mother."
His mother-in-law patted the gray silk cushion beside her, offering him a seat, but Axell preferred his distance. He was certain Sandra was a very nice woman. He'd never seen evidence otherwise, although admittedly, since she'd moved to