sure. Toby is a mama’s boy who’s going to spend the summer watching movies. As for Debbie, all she plans to do is haunt the thrift stores and read trashy magazines.” At Kelsey’s look of surprise, Marta shrugged. “I hear loads of stuff cleaning the faculty lounge. People act like I’m not even there and it’s a mighty handy way to get a scoop.”
“Okay, so I save them for an emergency. I also have my girlfriends from college.”
“Every year, more of those Bryn Mawr College pals are getting married and moving to the suburbs.”
“They’re not exactly dead yet,” Kelsey grumbled.
“Death and marriage are similar transitions in the eye of a single person, right? I mean, when it comes down to availability.”
With a huff, Kelsey set her briefcase atop the clutter, released the twin clasps and opened the lid. “Make yourself useful and help me stack the cards in here.”
Marta admired a card cut into a crooked half moon before putting it in the case. “You know what I mean. When you’re single there’s always a hassle in getting together with married girlfriends. The hubby’s brother is coming to dinner, or the baby has a diaper rash, or the older kid has a tuba lesson.”
Kelsey eyed her wryly. “Those some of your excuses to friends?”
“I only wish my boys had played an instrument. But as you know, they only love hockey. As it turns out, most of my friends are the mothers of other players. I guess it’s because we spend so much time together in the bleachers. You’re welcome to hang out with me—” she paused “—in a pinch.”
“I don’t think I’d fit in without my own hockey player.” Kelsey left the greeting cards to Marta and retrieved an empty baked bean box from the floor to pack away the gifts. “Stop worrying. I’ll be fine.”
Marta picked up a bottle of cheap cologne, popped the cap and took a whiff. “Phew! Lily of the valley. All the rage over at the nursing home.”
Kelsey snatched it away and set it gently in the box. “Do the cards.” She’d collected a pretty wooden bird-house she could put on her condo’s small balcony, a box of chocolates for her nightstand and a collection of colored ink pens she’d use to write letters to her mother. Clare wasn’t into e-mails or anything to do with computers for that matter. She wasn’t open to change, being entirely focused on the café. Just as Kelsey was with teaching.
Among the wealth of gifts, there were a number of mugs proclaiming her World’s Best Teacher. Even with a cupboard full of them, she still enjoyed getting more, as each one was reinforcement of her life’s narrow mission.
Moving the briefcase to the opposite side of the desk, Marta tipped it just enough to send the contents sliding and expose some of the personal papers Kelsey routinely dealt with during her free time.
Marta spouted, “No harm done,” before righting the case again but suddenly spotted a neon-orange sheet of paper. “Hey, what’s this?”
“Nothing.” Kelsey tried to grab it, but Marta was too quick for her. With a deft move likely learned from a hockey son, she ducked and spun on worn Nike running shoes. Caught on spike-heeled pumps, Kelsey was no match.
“Reunion,” Marta said, skimming the sheet with interest. “Class of ninety-seven. This is about your tenth high-school reunion in Maple Junction!”
“Yes, but—”
“Empty months ahead and you never said a word about this opportunity.”
Kelsey flapped her hands. “Stop! I’m not interested.”
Marta ignored her. “Two weeks away. You’ve got plenty of time to get some new outfits, a haircut.”
“Dammit, Marta, I am not going,” Kelsey insisted. “I’ve closed the door on that part of my life.”
“But you’ve got some nice childhood memories.”
She folded her arms defensively. “I know.”
“It’ll be a good change for you, especially after dumping Tanner.”
“I have my summer all mapped out,” Kelsey protested. “Days of reading books on the beach, jogging, whacking golf balls at the driving range. Nights downtown seeing plays, eating formal dinners served by polite waiters and drinking cocktails mixed by cocky bartenders.”
“By yourself!”
“Probably. Mostly. I’m fine with it, so let’s drop the whole issue.”
“Whatever.” Marta went over to retrieve her ladder, tipping it against the strip of cork over the blackboard where the paper train was.
“I can climb that thing,” Kelsey said.
“Not in those heels, you can’t. It would be as dangerous as putting pins in your mouth.” Taking the rungs with ease, Marta looked down on her distracted friend, now engrossed in the flyer. “Opportunity is knockin’…”
“Marta, please!”
“Just seems high time to take another look at that hometown situation.”
“Three of my good friends died, along with all their big dreams for the future. That’s more than a situation, it’s nothing short of a tragedy.”
“It’s more of a tragedy if your dreams died, too.”
Kelsey hung her head. “Well, maybe I deserve it.”
“You’ve been punishing yourself for ten years,” Marta said gently. “That seems a stiff penalty for an unintentional spinout on a dark rainy road. Besides, you aren’t absolutely sure you were even driving.”
The awful accident had indeed resulted in a head injury that robbed Kelsey of any memory of that night’s prom festivities, including details of the crash itself. However, since she was found near the driver’s door of the Jetta, and had later admitted her inexperience in handling a stick shift, the police had deduced that she’d likely been the fumbler behind the wheel.
Kelsey had been far too spunky back then to accept full responsibility for an event she couldn’t even remember, especially as it could have resulted in a manslaughter charge. Just the same, her heart remained broken, regret and remorse gnawing at the wound.
In a way, she understood the public’s initial mistrustful outcry. She had had a reputation for daring deeds—daring for Maple Junction anyway—like scaling high fences, skiing down perilous roads closed during the winter’s iciest weeks, somersaulting off the high board at the community swimming pool. And there was never any question that she would top Whittier High’s cheerleader pyramid during any given routine.
While scarcely a pattern of seriously reckless behavior, it hadn’t helped her case. For most people, it proved to be a small leap in judgment to assume she had climbed behind the wheel of her boyfriend Brad’s car and driven under those dangerous conditions.
The controversy remained unresolved to this day. Without solid proof of her guilt, the cops were stalled and she in turn could raise no tangible defense.
“If
