Smoky Mountain Reunion. Lynnette Kent

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      Or he might still be damn near perfect.

      Nola realized her hands were shaking. She gripped them together and stared out the window of her hired car, trying to divert her thoughts with the scenery. All along the winding mountain road, white dogwood flowers fluttered around the tall pine-tree trunks, and patches of purple rhododendron blossoms brightened the dappled shade. Some long-gone gardener had planted drifts of daffodils in the grass at the edge of the forest, and now their cheerful yellow trumpets nodded in the breeze. As a teenager, Nola had spent hours wandering these woods in all seasons and weathers. Judging by today, spring was still her favorite time of year.

      The mileage signs on the narrow road up to the school were falling behind, but not fast enough. Nola leaned forward and put her hand on the front seat, but before she could ask the driver to speed up, the car decelerated. In another moment, they’d stopped altogether.

      She changed the question. “Is something wrong?”

      The driver turned around, looking past her through the rear window. “There’s a kid back there on the side of the road.”

      Nola shifted to follow his gaze. “He’s walking oddly. Do you suppose he’s hurt?”

      “If you don’t mind waiting a minute, I’ll go and check.”

      “That will be fine.”

      The worry on his grandfatherly face eased into a smile. “Thanks.”

      Nola watched as he walked back down the road. The boy came to a stop as soon as he saw the man approaching. There was a moment of hesitation as they faced each other. Then the driver returned to the car alone.

      Nola rolled down her window. “Is he all right?”

      Taking off his cap, the man scratched his head. “He’s carrying a huge turtle. That’s why he’s walking strangely.”

      “A turtle?”

      “This big.” He rounded his hands, indicating a circle at least a foot in diameter. “But he won’t talk to me at all. Won’t say a word. Backs away, if I come closer.” Smoothing down his thick gray hair, he replaced his cap. “I guess he’s been told not to talk to strange men in cars. My kids and grandkids always were.”

      “Oh.” She looked at the boy again, seeing how he struggled to keep hold of the agitated turtle. To judge by the size of that shell, the animal had to be heavy. “Do you think he would talk to a strange woman?”

      The driver looked worried again. “I don’t…”

      A glance at her watch told her they couldn’t afford much more delay. “Let’s find out.” She released the door latch and the driver jumped forward to pull it open for her. Together, they headed toward the boy and the turtle.

      The day was warm for March in the mountains, the sunlight strong. A light breeze stirred her hair and cooled her cheeks. Nola stopped about ten feet away from the unlikely pair. “Are you okay?”

      He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” Dark, silky hair fell across his forehead and into his brown eyes. His cheeks and arms were pale and freckled, his jeans, shirt and boots, filthy. “Just trying to get this fella home.”

      The turtle’s arms and legs flailed, exposing sharp claws that came close to scratching the boy’s hands. Its head and tail poked out and retreated into the shell repeatedly, and with each move the boy was forced to adjust his stance to compensate.

      The driver glanced at the forest surrounding them. “Couldn’t you just put him down in the woods somewhere along here?”

      “I found him down on the highway. He almost got runned over twice before I could pick him up. He needs water and someplace safe. We have a pond out back of the house I think he’ll like.”

      “How far do you have to go?” Nola asked.

      “Coupla miles.”

      “What are you doing so far from home? And on Hawkridge property? This is private land, you know.”

      “My dad works at Hawkridge. He’ll take me and Homer to the pond.”

      “I’ve never heard of homer turtles.” Nola glanced at the driver, who shrugged.

      “Me neither.” The boy flashed her an amused look, displaying a deep dimple near each corner of his mouth. “This is Terrapene carolina carolina. A common box turtle. Homer’s his name. After the Greek poet.”

      With its black-and-gold patterned shell and wizened, enigmatic face, the creature was, in its own way, fascinating. “How do you know it’s a male?”

      “Males have red eyes.” Closing the distance between them, the boy lifted the turtle toward Nola’s face. “See? Females have brownish eyes.”

      “Ah.” She had a feeling he could give her a college-level lecture on the habitat and habits of the box turtle. And she might have been willing to listen, but then she’d be late for her appointment. “Well, if you’re okay…” She turned toward the driver. “We should be on our way.”

      He touched the brim of his hat. “Yes, ma’am.” But then he looked at the boy again. In a low voice, he said to Nola, “I hate to leave him alone out here.”

      Nola looked at her watch again. “He’s perfectly safe.” She always had been.

      The driver wasn’t convinced. “Two miles is a long way to walk for a young kid.”

      She took a deep, calming breath. “You want to give him a ride?”

      “If you wouldn’t mind, ma’am. Since we’re going to the same place.”

      “Fine.” Anything to simply get going. She looked back at the boy. “Would you like a ride to the school?”

      He grinned. “Sure!” But then his face fell, as he appeared to reconsider. “Uh…I’m not supposed to ride with strangers.”

      Nola stared at him, not sure what to do next. “I’m Nola Shannon. I’ll be teaching at Hawkridge for the next two months. So I’m not exactly a stranger.”

      Relief brought out another dimpled grin. “I’m Garrett. If you’re a teacher, then it’ll be okay.” He marched forward, his flailing burden held in front of him. “Let’s go. My arms are getting tired.”

      “You don’t want that animal in the car with you,” the driver told Nola as they followed the boy. “It’s filthy.”

      She nodded. “We’ll put him in the trunk.”

      With the trunk of the limousine open, however, Nola experienced second thoughts. So, evidently, did the turtle’s rescuer. “Homer might get hurt if a suitcase fell on him,” he said. “It would be good if we had something safe to put him in.” He scrutinized Nola’s luggage. “Can we take the stuff outta that little bag and put Homer in there?”

      The driver gasped. “Absolutely not!”

      But Nola, looking at the СКАЧАТЬ