Past, Present And A Future. Janice Carter

      Clare wondered how much her former teacher had been aware of her students’ personal lives. “Not really,” she evaded. “Most have moved out of Twin Falls.”

      “I read yesterday’s article in the Spectator,” Lisa said.

      Clare fiddled with the clasp on her purse. “Oh, yes? What did you think of it?”

      “Typical of that reporter’s usual fare. An attempt to be sensational. To incite public speculation. I hate it when journalists pretend to be writing one thing but really have an agenda all their own. He starts off by claiming to review your novel and suddenly shifts into something that happened years ago. I haven’t finished your book yet, but I found his claims about the similarities between the two to be exaggerated.”

      “I’m afraid people will think I was merely rewriting history and camouflaging it as fiction.”

      “Well, obviously you drew on your experiences in a small town with your heroine but I never actually thought the story was based on real life.”

      Clare swallowed hard, resisting the urge to admit that one or two incidents had actually occurred. “Plus the death in my novel wasn’t a murder.”

      “Exactly. I thought Withers was stretching it to focus on the Rina Thomas murder the way he did. Anyway, it happened so long ago I doubt a lot of readers even know about the case.”

      “Unfortunately, they do now.” Clare sighed.

      “Don’t let people like Withers get to you, Clare. As I said, he was more interested in producing a bit of sensationalism than in giving an honest review.”

      “Thanks for that. And thanks, too, for the opportunity this morning. It’s been a while since I faced a group of teenagers in a classroom.”

      “Your teacher training was very evident, believe me,” Lisa said. “I’ve encouraged some of the kids to read the book for their novel study this term.”

      Clare slipped on her coat, picked up the canvas book bag and her purse and walked with Lisa to the door. There, she impulsively hugged her. “Thanks again, Lisa. For everything.”

      She hastened along the corridor to the exit nearest the parking lot. Her low heels clipped along the tile floor, echoing in the muted quiet as classes droned on behind closed doors. She had a sudden flash to another day when she had rushed along this same hall, eager to meet Gil on the playing field after his baseball practice.

      She reached the exit and pushed down on the bar of the door, stepping outside. The field stretched ahead of her. It looked the same, she noted, though was now enhanced by tiers of bleachers for spectators.

      Clare stared at it, remembering with sudden, vivid clarity the sight of Gil Harper embracing Rina Thomas out there. She had stared in disbelief from the very place where she was now poised, watching Gil and Rina walk arm in arm toward the ravine and the shortcut to the footbridge spanning the river. It was the last time she ever saw Rina Thomas.

      Clare took a shaky breath. Relax, Clare. It’s all over and done with. And in a few minutes, you’re out of here.

      She rounded the corner of the school to the parking lot, just as she had that day, only this time tears weren’t blinding her way. Striding to her car, she determined to put as much distance between the past and the present as quickly as possible. By the time she reached the sprawling outskirts of Hartford, Clare was thinking only of her book signing.

      She parked in the lane behind the store, which was tucked into a beautifully renovated section of the old town. Clare took the canvas bag with some promotional bookmarks and posters and hoped that the shipment of books her publisher had ordered for the event had arrived. A clerk on standby at the rear of the building opened the door for her, greeting her enthusiastically.

      There was already a small crowd milling about, in spite of the fact that it was a Monday. The manager took her coat, brought her coffee and a bottle of water, and ushered her to a solid and comfortable armchair behind the table. By the time Clare began, asking the name of the first person in line, she’d already pushed from her mind the morning visit to Twin Falls High.

      This was the part of her new role in life that she loved—chatting to ordinary people who not only liked to read, but who liked to read her books. She still had difficulty accepting the idea that complete strangers would want to read something she wrote. She was sipping the last of her coffee when a man’s voice caught her attention and she looked up over the rim of her cup.

      “Mr. Wolochuk?” she asked, squinting at the man in front of the table.

      He gave a quick nod. “Nice to see you, Clare. And nice to see you remember me.”

      “Of course I do. I—I struggled through your chemistry class in senior year.”

      His tentative smile revealed an uneven set of tobacco-stained teeth. The years had obviously not been kind to Stanley Wolochuk, Clare thought. Stoop-shouldered with limp, graying hair, he looked close to retirement, although Clare guessed he must only be in his early fifties.

      “If I recall correctly, you passed my course. And it appears you’ve gone on to bigger and better things.” He gestured to the stack of books on the table.

      “I’ve been very lucky,” she said, knowing luck had been a small part of the process.

      “Well…uh…when I saw the notice in the paper here about the signing, I thought I should come and say hello. And buy a book, too,” he added with a strained laugh. His long, sallow face creased into deep ridges. He nudged a copy of her novel toward her.

      Clare flipped to the title page, her mind racing for an appropriate inscription. It was so much easier to write something innocuous to a stranger. Acquaintances and friends demanded more personal attention. She felt his eyes on her while she lowered her head to write. Scrawling something about having more success at writing than chemistry, she flipped over the cover when she’d finished.

      “So are you still teaching, Mr. Wolochuk?”

      “No, had to go on disability a few years ago.” He paused. “Heart condition.”

      “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Clare didn’t know what more to say. There was only one woman left in line behind him and she was thumbing through a book, apparently in no hurry. “I did a signing in Twin Falls yesterday,” she said, “and this morning, I paid a visit to the high school. Lisa Stuart asked me to speak to her senior English class.”

      His eyes narrowed with interest. “Oh? How did that go?”

      “Very well, or so Lisa assured me. Lots of questions from the kids at the end, which is always a good sign. Though most of them had to do with the money and fame aspects of publishing.”

      “And…uh…” he paused, noisily clearing his throat, “did you have a chance to see any of your old friends?”

      “One or two,” she said, keeping vague in order to cut short the conversation. The woman still in line was now looking up.

      But Mr. Wolochuk seemed in no hurry. “Were you in town long?”

      Clare shook her head. “Just for the weekend. Are you still living there?”

      A flicker of some emotion Clare couldn’t read crossed his face. After a moment, he said, “No. Left there quite a while ago. I live here now.”

      “Oh.” Clare saw the woman check her watch. “Well, it was very nice to see you again, Mr. Wolochuk, and thank you for buying my book.”

      He gave a slight nod but stayed rooted in place. The woman behind him coughed and Wolochuk suddenly woke up to the fact that someone was waiting. He picked up the book and moved aside for the woman.

      Clare smiled at her next customer and, just before inquiring about a name, glanced at Mr. Wolochuk. “Thanks again,” she said brightly.

      “Yes. Goodbye then, and good luck.” He turned and walked away.

      When