Almost Perfect (6 page)

She moved to the short wall and gaped at the view, which was even more spectacular from this vantage. Then her gaze fell to the office, and her enthusiasm plunged. "Mama, why didn't you tell him I was coming?"

"Because he would have insisted I take back the job offer. Now you're here and it's too late."

"And you laid a great big guilt trip on him to make him let me stay."

"Yes, I thought that was nicely done." Her eyes twinkled.

Normally, Maddy would have shared Mama's humor. Now she could only sigh with regret. "Maybe it would be best if I did leave."

"Is that what you want to do? Leave without a fight?"

"To be honest, my mind is going in so many directions, I don't know what I want."

"Then I'd say you have some thinking to do. At least stick around until you know what you want."

Know what you want
. The words from Jane's book echoed in Maddy's head, stirring all the old longings that had once been so much a part of her. Longings she'd lost along the way. To be an artist. Not just the competent one she was now, creating pleasant oil paintings, but to somehow find the key to unlock the potential she knew was inside her.

Facing the view, she yearned to unpack her paints and set up her easel right here, with a hundred images waiting to be captured in every direction.

"Well, I'll leave you to get settled," Mama said, moving back toward the sliding glass door. "You're free until the staff meeting."

"Staff meeting?" Maddy pulled herself out of her thoughts as she remembered what Joe had told the other coordinators. "Oh. Yes. Four o'clock." Biting her lip, she looked down at the office.

"Now don't look so worried. Joe has all afternoon to calm down and he's hardly going to make a scene in front of the girls."

"I wouldn't count on that," she called to Mama's retreating back. When the woman's laugh drifted back to her, she felt another old longing well inside—why couldn't she have a mother like Mama? Someone with grit?

When she was alone, she glanced at her watch. She had three hours until the meeting. Plenty of time to check in with Amy and Christine to let them know she'd arrived safely.

Back inside, she wrestled her suitcase onto the mattress, snarled at her copy of
How to Have a Perfect Life
, rummaged past several pairs of sandals, and dug out her sturdy little laptop. Seconds later, she was plugged into the phone jack next to the big ugly chair.

Opening her e-mail, she scanned new messages from her friends. Over the years they'd kept their e-mail conversations going until it was now as much a part of their daily lives as waking up in the morning. This time of day during the week, Amy would be sitting at her desk and generally responded within seconds. Christine wouldn't respond until she woke up to get ready for the graveyard shift at the ER.

When she finished reading, Maddy started a new thread.

Subject:
Well, I made it
.

Message:
And can I just say, I want to shoot Jane Redding for writing that book? "Leave your past behind." What a crock
!

Amy:
Uh-oh. I take it your first meeting with Joe didn't go well
.

Maddy:
You might say that. Which proves Jane was wrong. The past never goes away. It's like the clothing mistakes in the back of your closet. You can forget about them for long stretches, but the minute you dig past your current clothes, there they are, right where you left them, some of them even uglier than you remembered. They haven't magically vanished, or gotten pretty while you weren't looking
.

Amy
: I don't think Jane meant we should or could forget it. I think she meant we have to accept it and move on, without letting where you've been control where you're going
.

Maddy:
Ugh! Christine, why aren't you online? I need a bitching buddy, not maturity. Although, Amy, you're right. I'm sure when I'm feeling calmer, I'll agree. Right now, though, I'd rather shoot Jane. Or Joe. Yeah, actually, I could really get into shooting Joe
.

Chapter 4

Maddy looked up from the notes she'd been reviewing for the staff meeting and realized it was two minutes past four o'clock. Yikes! Where had the time gone? After her e-mail exchange with Amy, she'd jumped into airing out the apartment and unpacking her clothes. Once she'd made some headway into stamping the place as her own, she'd pulled out all the material Mama had sent her when she'd agreed to take the job. In her determination to be well prepared, she'd lost all track of time.

Arriving late was not the way to show Joe what a mature, responsible adult she was.

Stuffing her notes into her big purse, she raced out the door and toward the wooded trail she assumed led to the main part of the camp. Her flat sandals slipped on the damp earth, making her wish she'd taken an extra minute to put on sensible footwear. Especially since she'd gone on a shopping spree before leaving Austin to buy some shoes that could actually be termed "sensible."

The trail gave way to a sun-drenched field, with the office to her far left. She increased her pace to a light run, forgetting about the thin mountain air. By the time she passed a log cabin with a sign proclaiming it the chief's lodge, her head was spinning.

She made out several people gathered on the covered area behind the office and prayed Joe wasn't among them yet. With a last spurt of energy, she leapt onto the patio. "Sorry I'm late." She sucked in a breath. "I got… caught up… unpacking."

Several heads turned her way, but with the sun-spots in her eyes, all she could make out was silhouettes standing or sitting around a picnic table—all of them too small to be Joe, thank goodness.

"Actually, you're fine." Mama's voice came from one of the seated silhouettes. "We haven't started yet."

"Yeah, we're waiting for God to join us," a younger voice said.

"God?" Maddy's eyes adjusted enough to recognize the three girls she'd seen earlier, and two others she hadn't.

"He also answers to
sir
!" The blonde who'd driven the sports car snapped a smart salute, making the others laugh.

"They mean Joe," Mama clarified as she rose. "Let me introduce you. Everyone, this is Madeline Mills, our new arts and crafts coordinator."

"Please, call me Maddy." She acknowledged the round of welcomes with a wave.

"This is Carol, our assistant director." Mama gestured to a pretty young woman sitting on the table with her legs primly crossed. Like the others, she wore shorts and a polo shirt, making Maddy realize that maybe her shoes weren't the only thing she should have changed. "Carol's been a part of Camp Enchantment for… how long?"

"Fourteen years." Carol's smile held genuine welcome. "I've gone from camper to counselor to assistant director."

"Sandy here is our liberal arts coordinator." Mama motioned to the owner of the sports car, then moved on to the statuesque black girl. "And Dana."

"Outdoor sports." Dana gave Maddy's hand a firm shake. "How ya doing?"

"Leah coordinates our nature studies." Mama motioned to a petite Asian girl seated on the far bench, then moved on to the last of the three girls who'd been in the parking lot, the tomboy with cropped brown hair. "And Bobbi is our water recreation coordinator."

"You know, head lifeguard." Bobbi raised the whistle that hung around her neck and blew. The shrill sound nearly drowned out the screams of protest as everyone covered their ears.

"So," Maddy said when the noise died down, "did all of you start out as campers?"

"You bet," Sandy confirmed, and they all launched into singing, " 'We are family, I got all my sisters with me.' "

Maddy was struck by how very young they looked. Logically, she knew the gap was only about a decade, but it suddenly seemed like a millennium. Although the gap wasn't just the age. These were "good girls." She wanted to laugh at the thought of these squeaky-clean kids working for Joe. And herself being dropped among them. Oh well, she decided, if she could become fast friends with Amy and Christine, she could find a way to fit in here.

A tingle of awareness brushed the back of her neck. She turned as Joe appeared in the doorway to the office. For a split second, their gazes collided. She braced herself for a blast of cold anger, or the spark of heat she'd seen in his eyes the instant before his mother walked in.

Instead, his gaze moved on as if he hadn't even seen her. He strode forward with a stack of papers, his years of military discipline showing in every step. "All right," he said, as if rallying the troops for a briefing. "Let's get this meeting under way."

The coordinators scurried into their seats, taking up notepads and pens. Maddy sat next to Mama, ! while Joe took the seat farthest from her on the opposite bench.

"We have a lot of ground to cover." Joe skimmed a look around the table that somehow skipped over her. "First, though, I'd like to say welcome back to Camp Enchantment."

A cheer went up from the other coordinators.

He glanced at his mother. "Do you have anything to say before we get down to business?"

Affection and pride softened Mama's face. "I thought I'd let you make the announcement."

"Announcement?" Carol asked.

"Nothing major." Joe shrugged. "Only that my stint as camp director has officially been bumped up from temporary to permanent."

Maddy watched him carefully as a second cheer went up. One corner of his sculpted lips lifted in a smile, but no readable emotion showed in his eyes.

"And here I thought you'd all go screaming for the front gate." His teasing tone was subtle, the same wry wit he'd once used to charm her.

"Not likely." Carol laughed flirtatiously. It wasn't overt, or even sexual, yet Maddy felt a bond between Joe and every female at the table—a genuine affection that clearly excluded her.

The exclusion, though, allowed her to study him and notice how he'd changed. He wore his hair short and neat, not boot-camp short but not as long as when they'd been dating. His face had hardened too, become more sharply defined.

"In making my decision," he said, "I thought a lot about Camp Enchantment, and the children who pass through here. I know personally what a difference a positive environment can make."

Maddy cocked her head, intrigued by the ease with which he spoke, considering the personal nature of his words. He'd certainly matured from the boy who sat in the back of the classroom, slumped in his chair with a practiced look of disinterest.