Janice Carter - Past, Present And A Future

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.