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“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.
CHAPTER THREE
SHE HAD TIMED HER entrance perfectly. Laura and Dave were just sitting down at their table, and judging by the half-finished glass of wine in front of Gil, Clare figured he’d arrived a bit early. She handed her coat to the host and walked toward them, pleased that she had avoided a few moments alone with Gil—something she’d worried about on her walk to the restaurant.
“Clare! You look ravishing,” Dave enthused, standing to greet her. “Doesn’t she, Laura?”
“Now that she’s a celebrity, she has an image to keep up, right, Clare?” Laura winked.
The spotlight wasn’t really what she’d been seeking, but Clare struck a pose, hoping she didn’t look as awkward as she felt. She cocked her head, her shoulder-length hair swaying to one side, and scanned the room. “What? No paparazzi?” she demanded, smiling. She gave Dave a quick hug and bent down to give Laura a peck on the cheek.
Gil had stood at her arrival as well and was pulling out the chair beside his. Clare hesitated, then acknowledged him with a nod of her head. “Gil,” she mumbled and sat down. As he pushed the chair in, his hand brushed across her shoulders and the instant tingle distracted her enough that she missed Laura’s next remark.
“I said,” Laura repeated seeing the blank look on Clare’s face, “that I love your dress. Is it silk?”
“Yes. A celebration splurge.”
“It’s stunning,” Laura went on. “Those earth tones are wonderful with your hair and complexion. Whenever you move, they seem to shimmer in different shades of brown and gold.”
“More like copper,” Gil added.
“Since when were you such a fashion connoisseur?” asked Dave, grinning across the table.
“I know my colors as well as the next guy,” Gil said, grinning. He turned toward Clare. “Laura’s right. The dress is perfect for you.”
His smile was sincere, Clare thought, but the intense expression in his eyes unreadable. She suddenly felt uncomfortable and gave him a quick smile that felt lopsided, then turned her head toward Laura. “Who’s looking after Emma tonight?”
“My mother. She and Dad are heading off to Florida Monday morning so she wanted to spend more time with her.”
“Will they stay in Florida the whole winter?”
“They usually do. Though this year, they might brave the weather and come back for Christmas. Unless we go there,” Laura said, casting a quick glance at Dave.
A shadow crossed his face. Obviously, he didn’t want to discuss the matter right then. Clare quickly said, “Well, wherever you end up, Christmas will be special this year because of Emma.”
“You’re right, Clare. Emma’s what matters,” Laura said, giving Dave a pointed look.
A waiter arrived with sparkling wine and four glasses. “I hope you don’t mind,” Gil said. “I ordered it just before you arrived. Thought the occasion required a toast.”
When the wine was poured, Gil raised his glass. “To Laura, Dave and baby Emma.”
“And let’s not forget old friends,” Dave said.
The waiter came to recite the specials and for the next few minutes, attention was devoted to the menu. Once their orders were taken, Dave broke the silence by asking Clare how the book signing had gone.
“Fine, though I wonder if I’ll ever get used to these things.”
“You better,” Laura said. “I’ve a feeling there are many more in your future.”
“There was quite a crowd at the store,” Gil added.
“You went?” Laura asked.
“Sure. Got to support the local talent, right?”
Laura’s glance switched from Gil to Clare. But if her friend was looking for some sign of how the encounter had turned out, Clare wasn’t cooperating. She met Laura’s gaze with impassivity and abruptly changed the subject to her interview with Jeff Withers.
“That guy!” Dave grimaced when Clare mentioned the reporter’s name.
“Why?” Clare asked, suddenly worried about the interview.
“He’s one of those sensationalist reporters. You know the kind—knocking on the doors of families who’ve just suffered a devastating loss. He’s good at pulling the emotional strings of his readers.”
Clare understood then Withers’s dogged insistence on focusing on the Rina Thomas case, rather than her novel. For the second time that day, she regretted the interview.
“So how did it go?” Gil asked.
She turned his way, saying merely, “Fine.” He was the last person she wanted to discuss the interview with, especially its focus on Rina Thomas. The arrival of the waiter with their food prevented her from having to elaborate and after he left, the talk turned to food, restaurants and changes in Twin Falls. On safer ground, Clare began to relax and enjoy the evening.
But two hours later, her relief that the dinner had transpired without serious reference to the past evaporated. The laughter, topical chitchat and catch-up on their current lives had merely been embellishment to her false sense of security, Clare realized. Standing on the sidewalk outside Serendipity—and acknowledging the irony of its name, under the circumstances—Clare was painfully aware of the huge gap between the teenaged Gil Harper she’d adored and his present self. Someone she knew not at all.
Outside the restaurant after dinner, Laura and Dave lingered for a few seconds, reminding them of the time to be at the church the next day. “Sure you don’t want a lift back?” Laura asked anxiously, reading all too clearly, Clare thought, the state of her mind.
“My hotel’s just a few blocks away,” Clare was saying when Gil piped up.
“I’ll walk her back,” he said to Laura and before Clare could find an excuse, he clasped a hand under her elbow and gently turned her in the direction of the Falls View Hotel, four blocks away. “I insist,” he added.
Her first impulse was to shake loose of his grasp, but she was worried the move would seem too inappropriate. She reminded herself that he was simply being polite, a trait she recalled from the adolescent Gil Harper, only the present day Gil Harper seemed nothing like the teenage one she’d adored.
“You’re deep in thought,” he commented, breaking the silence.
More like deep in history, she thought, but only made an innocuous remark about the evening.
“Yes,” he agreed, “the food was great, too. A far cry from the diner we used to hang out at after school. Remember it?”
As if she could forget. Harvey’s Diner was where her history with Gil had begun. Just two blocks away from Twin Falls High, the small family-owned snack bar had been, along with the town’s pool hall, one of the few places that tolerated the teenage crowd.
But she refused to be drawn in to reminiscing. “I do. The best hamburgers and fries in town.” As if that had been its only claim to memory.
He didn’t pursue the point. Conversation ceased then and all that Clare heard were the hollow echoes of their shoes on the sidewalk and the voice in her mind, urging her to say something—anything—to break the strained silence. Yet there was a time when silence between them had been companionable. A bond, rather than an indicator of the way their lives had diverged. Oddly, the thought saddened her.
They were approaching the old movie theater—its facade rebricked and updated—as the audience exited, spilling onto the sidewalk ahead of them. Gil slowed down, letting Clare take the lead through the knots of people. Someone jostled against her and when she turned to her right, Clare saw a thin, middle-aged woman staring at her in astonishment. On the verge of apologizing Clare was met with a glare so hateful that she froze in her tracks. A couple strolled between her and the woman and by the time they’d passed, the woman had been swallowed up in the crowd.
“What is it?” Gil asked, coming up beside her. “Why did you stop?”
“I don’t really know,” she said, still scanning the place where the woman had been seconds ago. “I bumped into some woman and when I turned to apologize, she glared at me as if I’d done something unbelievably rude.”
“What did she look like?”
“In her forties and skinny. Brown hair. She was looking at me as if she knew me,” Clare said.
Gil stretched his neck to look over the crowd. He turned back to her. “Maybe it was someone you knew from before.”
From before. A curious expression, Clare thought, looking at Gil. Just as I once knew you—from before. Or thought I did.
“More likely someone who didn’t like my book,” she said, laughing it off. She resumed walking, eager to remove herself from his gaze. She tried to keep a distance ahead of him but her heels were no match for his effortless stride.
He caught up to her as she turned onto the side street where her hotel was situated. Clear of Main Street and with fewer shops, the street was much darker. It ran along the river, fenced off by a guardrail and gentle embankment to its edge. On the opposite side rose the steep dark cliffs that snaked around the bend in the river to the falls at its head. Two brilliant spotlights aimed at the falls illuminated their flow down the cliffs.
“I don’t recall those lights when I lived here,” Gil said.
“No,” Clare said, slowing to take in their nighttime splendor. “They were installed a few years ago,” she said. “A porter at the hotel told me some drunk driver missed the bend in the road and went over the top. They put up the fence afterward.”
“Remember how we used to make jokes about what this place might have been called if the falls weren’t here? Like Rivertown?”
“Yes,” she said, laughing suddenly at the memory flash. “Laura and I came up with River Crossing and River Forge, but our favorite was Nowhere U.S.A., getting away from the river theme. If the falls weren’t here, we decided we’d have to rename most of the town. The high school, this hotel, at least one of the restaurants in town at the time, as well as a couple of the streets.”
“Not to mention the town’s first shopping mall.”
“Really a strip plaza,” she said.
“Right.” He grinned down at her.
In that unguarded instant, their eyes connected, sharing a memory. It was as if the intervening years hadn’t happened at all. She was still seventeen and in love. Clare looked away first. She shivered, bunching her shoulders beneath the trench coat she’d brought for the weekend. “It’s getting chilly,” she mumbled, “and we have an early morning.”
“Not too early,” he said, his voice as low as hers.
Was he suggesting something, she wondered, or simply correcting her? Whichever, she decided not to respond.
“Look,” he went on, “I’m assuming you feel as uncomfortable about the christening as I do. But obviously, we don’t want to spoil the day for Laura and Dave. Can we agree on some kind of truce for tomorrow?”
Clare kept her face impassive. “I wasn’t aware that we were involved in some kind of feud. Do we need to agree on neutrality when indifference is really what we’re feeling?”
There was a second of confusion in his face, quickly followed by understanding. He took a step back, looking as if she’d struck him.
“We’re both adults,” she said, trying to soften the bluntness of her remark. “And we’ve both managed to put the past behind us. Do we need to say more?”
“Apparently not,” he replied, his voice almost a whisper. “Good night then, Clare.” He turned his back on her and strode briskly toward Main Street.
Clare waited until he disappeared around the corner before she summoned the energy to move. In spite of her belief that what she’d said was perfectly true, she felt mean and ashamed. What is it about Gil Harper, that prompts such behavior in you? she asked herself.
She pushed open the front door of the hotel, crossing the deserted lobby on her way to her room. She didn’t realize there was a phone message for her until she reached across the nightstand to turn out the lamp.
“Welcome back to Twin Falls, Clare. This is Lisa Stuart, your former English teacher at Twin Falls High. I missed your book signing today but heard via the grapevine that you might be in town a couple more days. I wondered if you’d be interested in visiting the school and giving a short talk to my senior lit class. I hate to impose on what must be a busy schedule, but some of my students have already read your latest novel and we’d all be thrilled to have you visit. If not, then perhaps the two of us could get together over coffee. I’d love to see you and hear all about your success. Call me anytime at 613-8527 and let me know. Looking forward to seeing you, bye for now.”
Clare jotted down the number, though she doubted she’d accept the invitation. Twin Falls High definitely wasn’t on her list of places to visit. She lay her head down on the pillow, too drained to read. One more day, then I’m out of here.
INDIFFERENCE. Gil didn’t dare turn around, even though he felt her watching him as he left. But he wanted to. He especially wanted to confront her about that glib remark and to tell her that she hadn’t really changed at all. That she was still shutting down, refusing to listen, just as she’d done seventeen years ago when he’d tried to explain why he’d been with Rina Thomas that day.
He slowed his pace when he reached Main Street, grateful for the cool night air and its calming effect. A woman, walking in the direction of the hotel, stopped as he passed her. Gil had the impression she was staring after him—maybe she’d seen something in his face, he thought. His anger and frustration flashing from him like a warning sign. Stop. Danger from the past just ahead.
By the time he reached the restaurant he felt more in control. Serendipity. What irony. The coincidence of finding himself linked with Clare Morgan after all these years was more bad luck than serendipity. And in spite of his extreme effort to be cool about the whole thing—to try to convey to her that he felt just as cornered by the christening as she did—she’d deftly turned the tables on him.
Yet to be truthful, it wasn’t simply her gibe that had touched a nerve so much as the unexpected jolt he’d felt at it. It wasn’t pain, he decided—more like anger quickly followed by sadness. He’d felt the same way when he’d read her book. He hadn’t been fooled at all by the name changes, recognizing at once himself, Rina and Clare. Of course, Clare had neatly avoided attaching blame for the death of the Rina character to his counterpart in the novel. That was where fiction and fact diverged. She’d been all too quick to blame him seventeen years ago.
Gil reached his car, parked a block beyond the restaurant, and climbed in. He’d impulsively offered to walk Clare back to her hotel after she turned down a ride from the Kingsways because he’d thought it would be an opportunity to clear the air between them, to straighten things out a bit before the next day. But no such luck.
You said it yourself, buddy. She hasn’t really changed. Her hair may have a different look, her golden-brown eyes, more wary, and her skinny teenaged frame has definitely morphed into something any other man would fantasize about, but inside, she was as unchanged as the falls. Self-righteous, inflexible and unforgiving.
Gil turned over the engine of his Mercedes and sat a minute longer, picturing the look in her face when she’d made that damned comment. He’d seen right away that she was trying for indifference but those eyes said it all. You’re a liar and a cheat and you don’t mean anything to me anymore. Precisely what she’d flung at him seventeen years ago, right after his release from jail. Words he’d never forget.
He shifted into Drive and edged away from the curb. At least he now knew where he stood. After tomorrow, Clare Morgan would be out of his life once again—which was just as well, for his sake.
CLARE CLOSED the car door behind her and lowered her head onto the steering wheel, its cool surface the perfect balm for the pounding at her temples. The christening ceremony had been relatively brief, for which she was grateful. Holding a squirming two-month-old for more than ten minutes would have been a challenge. Especially under the somewhat bemused gaze of Gil, who hadn’t bothered to offer any help. As soon as her part had finished, Clare quickly thrust the baby back into Laura’s arms. She thought she heard a low snort from Gil as she did so, but couldn’t be certain.
After the service, people clustered outside the church in small groups. In spite of her reluctance to return to Twin Falls, Clare was pleased to see Laura’s parents and family members again. She’d had many happy childhood memories with the Dundas family. When Gil came up to ask if she needed a ride to the Kingsways’, where the reception was being held, Clare was also grateful that she’d driven her rental car. His very presence seemed to strike a nerve.
Laura and Dave’s house was teeming with people when Clare walked in the front door. She placed her christening gift—a hand-smocked designer dress with matching sweater—onto the hall table along with the other presents and was making her way to the dining room where drinks were being served when Gil arrived.