Past, Present And A Future. Janice Carter

table.

      “Thank you very much,” the woman said. “I bought it for my daughter. I thought she’d be interested in knowing Twin Falls can boast a real live author. We just moved here from Hartford and she thinks it’s like living on another planet.”

      Clare figured the daughter was closer to the truth than the woman could have imagined. And at that moment, she was feeling neither real nor alive. It was eleven-thirty and she’d only signed about twenty-five books, which wasn’t bad for a bookstore in a place the size of Twin Falls, but already her fingers were cramped, her back ached and her stomach was rumbling. Yet how could she complain? Each book she signed contributed to the royalty checks that supported her now that she’d left teaching for a full-time writing career.

      The clerk returned with a take-out coffee and set it near her elbow. “Anything else?’ she asked.

      “Maybe another right hand.”

      The younger woman smiled and left Clare to it. She signed three more books and, as the line began to dissipate, sipped slowly on the coffee and closed her eyes, waiting for the jolt of caffeine to course through her.

      “You look tired.”

      Clare’s eyes flew open at the familiar voice. Gil Harper was standing in front of the table. In his black cords, dove-gray crewneck pullover and leather blazer—all complimenting his ebony hair and dark eyes—he was drawing quite a few glances from nearby women. He held a worn copy of her book and handed it to her when she set her coffee down.

      An inscription of some kind was necessary, of course. What would Miss Manners recommend in such a situation? Thanks for the memories? Or, Great while it lasted? Her pen poised above the dedication page with its “For Old Friends and New.” Clare had an inspiration. Writing Gil’s name above the dedication line, she simply signed her name below. When she passed the book back to him, he took a second to study the page.

      Then he raised his head and quipped, “At least it doesn’t read “‘Old Friends and Enemies.’”

      The smile Clare attempted struggled against her frozen cheek muscles.

      “Did Laura mention what time we’re supposed to meet tonight?” he asked.

      “Tonight?”

      “Dinner. At the new restaurant. Can’t recall the name. Serenity or something.”

      The smile tugged harder at the corners of Clare’s mouth. “Ah yes. Serendipity. I…uh…I think reservations are for six.”

      He nodded, continuing to check her out. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

      She knew what he meant, but played dumb. “What?”

      “My coming along. Maybe you’d rather be with them on your own.”

      She ignored the hook he was dangling before her. No way was she going to get into that debate in a public place. “I think Laura’s counting on both of us.”

      “Well, Laura can’t be let down.”

      Clare caught his fleeting grin and broke into a full smile. “True enough.”

      Someone jostled him from behind. “See you tonight then,” he said before walking away.

      She kept her eyes on him until his broad back disappeared in the bustle of shoppers and store clerks. When she turned to take the next book, she saw a young man with notebook and pen in hand standing patiently in front of her.

      “Miss Morgan? I’m Jeff Withers from the Spectator, the town’s newspaper. I wondered if you could spare me some time for an interview.”

      “Um, sure. I’m finished here in about fifteen minutes.”

      “There’s a diner right across the street. Mitzi’s. Why don’t I buy you lunch? It looks like you might be all coffeed out.”

      Clare smiled without any effort this time. “That would be great. I’ll meet you over there.” What she preferred to do was to head back to her hotel for peace and quiet, but she knew interviews were an important part of a book tour. When the signing wrapped up, she slipped on her suit jacket, assured the effusively appreciative manager that the pleasure was all hers and made her way across Main Street.

      The reporter was sitting in a booth facing the door and waved at her. He stood up as she sat down, a courtesy that pleased Clare but made her feel about twenty years older.

      “The specials are up on the board,” Jeff said, pointing to the wall to her left.

      “The food must be good,” Clare said. “The place is packed.”

      “Always is on the weekends. They serve a mean brunch.”

      A waitress arrived while Clare was skimming the menu so she made a quick decision. “The frittata special please, with salad instead of home fries.”

      Jeff ordered the same and as soon as the waitress left, set his notepad and pen on the table. “Would you mind if we talked while we ate? I’ve got a four o’clock deadline.”

      “Not at all. When will the interview be in print?”

      “Tomorrow’s Sunday edition. Look in the Lifestyles section. Now,” he said, flipping open the notepad, “I know that Growing up in Paradise is your second novel.”

      “That’s correct. The first, Frankie and Me, was published almost three years ago.”

      “Is it normal to have such a gap between books?”

      Clare smiled patiently. She’d been asked this question many times. “I don’t know if there’s anything in the world of publishing that could be called normal, but I don’t think the gap is unusual.”

      “And this one made the New York Times list so I guess that’s all that matters.”

      She wasn’t certain what he meant by the comment. “It’s a wonderful recognition, if that’s what you mean.”

      He smiled. “Of course! Now, I understand you were born and raised right here in Twin Falls.”

      “I was actually born in Greenwich, but I grew up here.”

      He paused while the waiter brought their drinks and then he placed a small tape recorder on the table. “Do you mind? I’m not the best note taker.”

      Clare frowned. “All right. I guess there’s not much I can tell you that’ll come back to haunt me.”

      He laughed. “Not in Twin Falls. The cover blurb of your book calls it a coming-of-age novel of a young girl growing up in a small town. But I’m curious—is it really based on your personal story?”

      Clare tried not to roll her eyes. She’d been asked this question so many times, she had the answer down pat. “My own experiences gave me an informed point of view, of course, and there are some similarities between the heroine, Kenzie, and me, but the story itself is fiction.”

      He nodded thoughtfully. “Can you summarize the central theme of the book?”

      Clare paused while their orders were placed on the table. “I think the title is the clue, right? The notion that small towns may seem like paradise on the surface, but underneath is the same ugliness that can be found in big cities.”

      “Kind of like the snake in the Garden of Eden?”

      “I guess, but mine isn’t a spiritual message. Simply that good and evil can be found anywhere, even in an idyllic place like…well, like Twin Falls.”

      “So is the book based on an actual event in Twin Falls?”

      Clare put down her fork. “I don’t believe I said that, did I?”

      His smile didn’t seem so charming this time. He cocked his head to one side and as if mulling over her question, switched tactics. “But isn’t that basically what we’ve been playing cat-and-mouse about these last few