Читать книгу Past, Present And A Future - Janice Carter - Страница 8

THE SAME, yet different. That much registered for Clare in the next five seconds as she stared at Gil Harper.

He had already reached his growth potential of six-two seventeen years ago, but he’d been almost eighteen then—lanky and loose-limbed in scruffy Levis and bulky sweatshirts. This Gil with his broader shoulders, wearing pressed jeans, a denim shirt and a black leather jacket, looked like a candidate for GQ’s Man of the Year award.

His charcoal-gray eyes stayed on Clare a moment longer before turning their gaze to Laura who was hovering at his left with Emma. He murmured a greeting and peered down at the baby in her arms. “This is the famous Emma, I presume.” He gave the baby a tentative smile, but his attention quickly shifted back to Clare. She rose unsteadily from the armchair.

“Hello, Gil.”

“Clare,” he said with a formal nod. “You’ve changed as much as the rest of us, I see. Your hair’s shorter.”

“It’s been a while,” she said, wondering if her voice sounded as peculiar to everyone else as it did to her at that moment.

“Would you like a brandy, Gil? Clare?” Dave asked.

“I…uh, really can’t stay long,” Gil said.

“I’ll have one,” Clare said. A large one.

“Glass of milk for me, please,” said Laura. “Surely you can stay long enough for a drink, Gil? At least until we go over the plans for Sunday.”

He shrugged. “Okay, then.”

Dave gestured to the couch, next to Clare’s chair. “Have a seat, Gil. I’m sure you and Clare have a bit of catching up to do. Laura, want to help me in the kitchen?”

Laura took the hint and, with the baby, followed Dave from the room. Clare remained standing until she accepted the fact that she hadn’t fallen asleep after dinner and awakened in a bad dream. Gil Harper wasn’t going to vanish before her eyes no matter how much she wished he would. She sat on the edge of the chair, ready to bolt if necessary.

He loomed in front of her a fraction longer before sitting on the couch. She watched him from the corner of her eye, noting from the rigid way he perched that he was just as uncomfortable as she was.

“I assume this has caught you by surprise, too,” she said.

“Definitely. As a matter of fact, I was asked to be godfather at two o’clock this afternoon when I met Dave on Main Street.”

“Same old Dave.”

“Apparently.”

He shifted on the couch turning toward her. “Congratulations on your new book.”

“Thank you.”

“I just finished it. Very…gripping,” he said, after a slight pause.

“You bought a copy?”

“Of course. I have your first one, too—Frankie and Me. I liked it very much. You always had promise as a writer.”

“Inspired by English class with Miss Stuart.”

He smiled for the first time. “Yes. I wonder if she’s still teaching.”

“Hmmm.” Clare wished Dave and Laura would return so they could make plans for Sunday and she could leave.

“I hope you understand that I had no idea you were even in Twin Falls,” he went on. “I just got here myself a couple of days ago to clear out my dad’s house.”

“Has your father moved into a retirement home?”

“No, he…uh, he died of a stroke about three weeks ago.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Gil. And your mother?”

“Heart attack, five years ago. How about your folks?”

“Mom’s in New Jersey with her second husband. Dad’s still in California with his second or third wife. Can’t recall which.”

“Your mother remarried? Good for her.”

Clare thought back to the day four years ago when her mother called to announce her upcoming marriage to someone she’d met only a year before. She’d been surprised at the news and at first, had tried to persuade her mother to simply move in with the man.

“I’m still an old-fashioned woman, Clare,” her mother had said. “And this is the time of my life when I need companionship more than ever. Besides, the fact is, I love Hank.”

Love. One thing to write about, quite another to experience. Clare sneaked a sideways glance at the person she’d once thought she loved. His hands—once so familiar—rested on his knees. She didn’t see a wedding ring.

As if reading her mind, he suddenly asked, “What about you, Clare? Are you married or engaged?”

She felt her face redden. “No.”

He nodded and conversation skidded to a halt. Clare was about to excuse herself to find Laura when Dave came back into the room with a tray of drinks.

“Sorry to take so long, but Laura wanted to get Emma to sleep. She’ll join us in a minute or so.” He passed large brandy snifters to Clare and Gil and, taking one for himself, sat opposite them in a wing chair. “Cheers!” he said, raising his snifter. “To old friends.”

Clare and Gil raised their glasses, though neither echoed his toast.

Dave cleared his throat. “So, Clare, what time is your book signing tomorrow?”

“Ten o’clock.”

“You’re having a signing? Where?” Gil asked.

“There’s a new bookstore in town—at least, new to me. Called Novel Idea.”

“It’s been here a couple of years, I think,” Dave said. “It’s on Spruce Street, near Main.”

“I’ll have to drop by.”

Great, Clare thought. Let’s get right into the whole horrible reunion thing.

“We’re not sure if we can go,” Dave said. “We still have a lot of running around to do for the christening luncheon on Sunday. And speaking of the christening, there’s not a lot you two have to do. It’ll be at the Methodist church, still in the same place—” he gave a slight laugh “—at eleven. We’ll save seats for you at the front. There’s another christening that morning, too, so the church may be crowded. Basically all you have to do is follow the pastor’s instructions. One of you will hold Emma for the blessing. Then we’ll have family and friends come back here for a buffet lunch. There won’t be too many people.”

“Sounds good,” Gil said, standing up and setting his empty glass on the coffee table. “So I’ll see you on Sunday morning.”

“Are you leaving?” Dave got to his feet, his brow creasing.

“I should. Still have some packing up to do before the cleaners come in tomorrow.”

“We were hoping you’d join us for dinner tomorrow night. I’ve made reservations for four at a new place in town. It’ll be like old times,” Dave added.

Clare tensed, hoping Gil would decline.

“I don’t know, Dave. I really shouldn’t.”

“Shouldn’t what?” Laura asked from the entrance to the living room. She walked over to the table where Dave had placed the drink tray and picked up her glass of milk. “You’re not leaving already, Gil?”

“Lots to do, Laura. The cleaners are booked for tomorrow afternoon and I’ve still got a lot to do.”

“But you’ll come tomorrow night? It’s all arranged.”

There was a long silence until Gil murmured, “Sure. That sounds fine.”

Clare sighed. There was no stopping Laura when she set her mind to something. She downed the last of her brandy and rose to go.

“Clare, not you, too!” Laura protested.

“I’m sure you and Dave will appreciate an early night, Laura. I’m tired myself and I have to be up early.”

“Where did you say you were staying? Want to come here for breakfast?”

Clare smiled at Laura’s love of making plans for other people. “I’m at the old Falls View Hotel, can you believe it? Though it’s had a bit of a makeover since I lived in town. Thanks for the offer of breakfast, but you’ll be busy enough.” She headed for the entrance hall and picked up her purse from the small table there. Her suit jacket was slung over a nearby chair and she draped it over her arm.

“Are you driving?” Gil asked, hovering at her elbow.

“Yes. I rented a car in New York.”

“How’d you like to give me a lift? I had an errand in town late this afternoon and decided to get some exercise by walking here. I could call a cab but…”

Clare hesitated. They were all looking at her and she couldn’t think of a good excuse. “Sure,” she murmured. She hugged Dave and kissed Laura on the cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

Laura held on to her by the forearm and whispered, “Are you sure this is okay? I mean, Dave can give Gil a ride.”

Clare watched Dave and Gil step out onto the porch. Keeping her voice low, she said, “No, it’s okay. I just wish I’d known about this godfather thing.”

“I’m sorry, Clare. I didn’t know myself until this afternoon just before you arrived. Will you manage? Want me to see if Dave can get out of it? I mean, he’s the person responsible.”

Clare guessed Gil would jump at the chance to be relieved of his duties. But a change now would be embarrassing for everyone, especially Dave. “No, no. Don’t worry. We’re both adults now.” She went out to the porch.

Both men turned around as she walked past them down the steps and headed straight for her car. She heard Gil following virtually on her heels while calling out a last goodbye. He didn’t speak until they were buckling up their seat belts and the engine was running.

“I hope this isn’t an inconvenience.”

Now he worries about that. Clare mumbled a no and pulled away from the curb, craning back to see Laura and Dave waving from the porch. Her glance took in Gil, staring straight ahead.

His profile was all angles and sharp edges, from the slightly hawkish nose to a jaw more formidable than the one she recalled. He’d always had a dark, broodish air about him and the years had further defined that quality. His long fingers drummed nervously on his kneecaps and for an unsettling second Clare had a vivid memory of those fingers on her, tracing an invisible line up and down the inside of her arm. He used to tease her about how ticklish she was there and liked to hear her beg him to stop.

She felt a sudden chill and clicked on the heat, tempted to also turn on the radio to fill up the tense silence. When he mumbled something about the weather, she was torn between relief that she didn’t have to think of anything to say and sadness that small talk was all they now had between them.

When she braked at the first stop sign, Gil asked, “Do you remember how to get to my place?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, aware at once of the edge in her voice.

“Will you be staying long?”

No longer than I have to, she wanted to say. “Until Monday. I’ve another signing in Hartford.”

More silence. “Have you gotten any feedback about your book from people here in Twin Falls?”

“Just Dave and Laura. I don’t keep in touch with anyone else from the old gang.”

“Me, neither.”

She drove into the housing tract where she, Laura and Gil had grown up. Gil’s house was at the farthest edge of it, just before the Visit Again sign where the road turned into highway. But when she turned onto Glendale Road, expecting to see the rows of bungalows she remembered, Clare was shocked. Scarcely half a dozen remained, including Gil’s father’s place at the very end.

“Good heavens!” Clare exclaimed, pulling over to the curb.

“Surprised?”

“Shocked.” She turned to look at him. “I guess I expected it all to look the same.”

“Unfortunately Twin Falls hasn’t escaped the tear-down epidemic of the big city. It’s a real commuter town now.” Gil stared out the window at his childhood home. “I don’t anticipate any problems selling the house.”

Struck by the tone in his voice, she asked, “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“I guess. Just that the place is my last link to Twin Falls. Once it goes…”

He didn’t need to finish. Clare knew exactly what he meant to say. “But isn’t that also a good thing?” she asked softly.

His face, turned to hers, was impassive. “Do you think so?”

Clare’s eyes held his a long uncomfortable moment before flicking back to the windshield and the street beyond. She wasn’t certain what he meant, but suspected he was veering the talk onto shaky ground and decided to keep quiet. The silence in the car became so stifling she had to put the window down. The engine idled gently at the curb.

“What part of New York do you live in?” he suddenly asked.

“Chelsea.”

“Oh, yeah? Nice area.”

Another pause. He seemed in no hurry to get out of the car. “And what about you?” she asked. “Where do you live now?”

“New York.”

“New York City?”

His eyes met hers. “Yes.”

Clare looked away. She couldn’t believe the man she’d been trying to forget for the last several years had been living under her nose. Well, sort of. Give or take a few million other people. Still, what perverse hand of fate had led both of them to the same city?

“I’ve got a condo on the East Side,” he went on.

When she found her voice, she asked, “How long have you been there?”

“About five years. I got a job at a law firm in Manhattan a couple years after I was called to the bar.”

Clare jerked her head back to him. “You’re a lawyer?”

A faint smile crossed his face. “Yeah. Ironic, isn’t it?” Then he pushed down on the door handle. “Thanks for the lift, Clare. See you tomorrow.” His long legs swung out and, without looking back, he closed the door behind him.

Clare sat unmoving until he disappeared inside the small bungalow. How strange life is, she mused. Gil Harper—once suspected of murdering his ex-girlfriend—now a lawyer.

“COFFEE?”

Clare raised her head from the book she was signing. One of the store clerks was standing at her left side. “Yes, please. Double double.”

The clerk grinned. “Gotcha,” and vanished into the cluster of people milling around the table. Clare smiled at the middle-aged woman waiting in front of her and pushed the novel across the 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 minutes? And here’s what you say in your acknowledgements.” He pulled a copy of her novel from his backpack and thumbed through the first couple of pages. “You thank a bunch of people, then make a general statement that certain events may appear to resemble—I like that phrase—events that may have occurred elsewhere but any similarities are entirely coincidental.” He raised his head, frowning. “Sounds like something a lawyer wrote, doesn’t it?”

Perhaps because one did, Clare was thinking. Suddenly she was no longer hungry. She wanted to leave, but she also wanted to clarify her point. “I—”

He interrupted, “Do you think there’s a possibility someone here in Twin Falls might find something too close to truth in the book?”

Clare set her fork down. “What are you getting at?”

He leaned forward, fixing his eyes on hers. He was no longer making notes, but the tape recorder whirred away. “Here’s my point. The novel centers around the death of a friend of the heroine’s. The death is ruled accidental, but there’s ambiguity about the finding that has a profound effect on the main character. What was her name again? Kenzie?”

Clare nodded. She knew where he was going now.

“And the death eventually results in Kenzie’s leaving forever the town where she grew up. Kind of a Paradise Lost idea. Right?”

Clare checked her watch, wondering when there’d be an opportunity to leave. “That’s part of the story, yes.”

He leaned further across the table. The eyes behind his wire-rimmed glasses glimmered. “And isn’t that what happened to you, right here in Twin Falls, seventeen years ago? When your friend was murdered and your boyfriend accused of the crime?”

“As I’ve already told you, what happens in my novel is fiction. And Rina Thomas was a classmate, rather than a friend. I’m sorry but I have to go.” Clare stood up.

Startled, he pulled back from the table. “But your lunch.”

“Let me pay my share.”

He rose from his chair. “No, no. The boss is paying. Listen, could you spare five more minutes? I just want to explore the idea of your novel being based on the Thomas case.”

“If you want to discuss my book, fine. However, if your real purpose in talking to me is to discuss something that happened many years ago in Twin Falls, then I’m sorry, I can’t help you. You’ll have to go to the police for that.” She started to move away.

“But the two stories are not so very different, are they?”

“The novel is drawn loosely on my childhood experiences and observations growing up in a small town. I’m sorry but I can’t spell it out any other way. Any similarities are—”

“Entirely coincidental,” he finished, quoting from the preface. “But off the record, Miss Morgan, which parts are not coincidental?”

“It’s all fiction, Mr. Withers. Goodbye,” she said and walked out the door. She brushed past a handful of people lined up to get inside and marched straight to her hotel, a brisk five minutes away.

It wasn’t until she was safely locked inside her room that she sank into a chair and succumbed to the trembling that began the instant she left Mitzi’s.