“He could. He has the potential.”

“He talks about you. Dr. Maguire says, Dr. Maguire thinks. His grades in his other classes are improving—not by leaps and bounds, but they’re better. You did that.”

“Garrett did that.”

“You . . . engaged him so that he could do that. Would do that. He’s talking about taking your creative writing course next year. He thinks he may want to be a writer.” Her eyes filled. “Last year he barely passed. We had to meet with the dean. And now he’s telling me about Shakespeare, and he thinks he may want to be a writer.”

She blinked at the tears while he stood, speechless. “Dr. Maguire, according to Garrett, is pretty cool for a brainiac. I wanted you to know that whatever he does, whatever he becomes, he’s never going to forget you. I wanted to thank you.”

CARTER WALKED INTO MAC’S STUDIO WITH A LARGE PIZZA AND a light step. She sat on the sofa, her feet propped on the coffee table.

“Pizza,” he said, walking into the kitchen to set it on the counter. “I knew you had an afternoon shoot, and I have a briefcase full of papers to grade, so I thought pizza. Plus, it’s a happy food. I had a really good day.”

She groaned a little and had him crossing to her with concern. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Mostly. Pizza. I have a gallon of ice cream in my stomach. Possibly two gallons.”

“Ice cream.” He sat on the coffee table. “Was there a party?”

“No. Maybe. I guess it depends on your definition of party. Tell me about your really good day.”

He boosted up to kiss her, then sat back. “Hello, Mackensie.” “Hello, Carter. You’re wearing a very big smile.”

“I had one of those very big moments, for me. I have a student. He’s been a challenge, the sort who sits down and turns a switch in his head that takes him anywhere but the classroom.”

“Oh yeah, I had that switch. It was handy, especially during lectures on the Revolutionary War, or tariffs. Tariffs hit the switch automatically. Did your challenging student do well today?”

“He’s been doing well. It’s about finding another switch, the one that turns on interest and ideas. It shows in the eyes, just like the turn-off switch.”

“Really?”

“Garrett’s the kind of student who pushes a teacher to work a little harder. And when you find that switch, it’s intensely rewarding. He’s the one who got a B on that paper I graded on Valentine’s Day. Or the day before. I think of that as our Valentine’s Day.”

“Right. I remember. Good for Garrett.”

“His mother came to see me today. The majority of the time when a parent comes in, it’s not to bring an apple to the teacher. She brought me an orchard. She thanked me.”

“She thanked you.” Curious, Mac cocked her head. “That’s an orchard?”

“Yes. It’s not just about teaching facts and theories, or assignments and grades. It’s about . . . finding the switch. I found Garrett’s, and she came in to thank me. Now you have a very big smile.”

“You changed a life. You change lives.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“No, you do. I document them, or at least pieces of them. And that’s important, it’s valuable. But you change them, and that’s amazing. I’m going to get you some pizza. Which I can’t share with you,” she said as she rose. “Due to ice cream stomach.”

“Why did you eat a gallon, or possibly two?”

“Oh.” She shrugged as he followed her into the kitchen. “Greed.”

“You told me you turn to ice cream in times of emotional upheaval.”

She glanced over her shoulder as she got down a plate. “I sometimes forget how well you listen. Let’s just say I didn’t have a really good day. Or maybe I did,” she considered. “It depends on the point of view.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s not important. And you have Garrett pizza. Do you want a glass of wine with that?”

“Only if you’re having one when you tell me. We can spend the next few minutes circling around it, or you can save time and just tell me.”

“You’re right. Circling around it makes it more important than it deserves to be.” Another bad habit to break, she decided. “My mother’s getting married again.”

“Oh.” He studied her face as she poured the wine. “You don’t like him.”

“I have no idea. I’ve never met him.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t.” She laid a hand over his briefly. “You can’t see how a mother could be getting married without her daughter at least being able to pick the guy out of a lineup. I doubt Eloisa’s met him either, or that it’s occurred to Linda either of us should. Anyway the Elliot/Meyers/Barrington . . . God, I don’t know what her last name’s going to be this time. The Elliot/Meyers/ Barrington slash name to be determined connections don’t have family dinners, so meeting this new one isn’t a priority.”

“I’m sorry it upsets you.”

“I don’t know what it does. I don’t know why it surprises me. The last time I saw Linda was when she called here, hysterical at midnight, and I drove over there in a damn ice storm thinking she’d been raped or attacked or God knows.”

“What? When was this?” He turned his hand over to grip Mac’s “Was she hurt?”

“Oh, it was . . . that night of the parent thing at the academy, and no, she wasn’t hurt. Except in Linda Universe. She was curled up on the floor dying because Ari—that’s the new fiancé—had to fly to Paris on business and didn’t take her. I was about to call the police, and an ambulance, then she’s all boo-hoo Paris. I turned around and left. Points for me because the usual MO would be for me to, resentfully, calm her down, get her into bed.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

“I don’t know.” With a shake of her head, she blew out a breath. “I really don’t. It wasn’t one of those proud mother-daughter moments, so I guess I tried not to think about it afterward. I walked out, and told her I wouldn’t come the next time she called. I said very hard things and left.”