Allie had been mortified to have him see her like that. But he had been so understanding. He hadn’t asked what troubled her, but just seemed to know. Looking back at it now with the eyes of an educator, he’d probably seen the wistfulness in her eyes whenever Sam came into the newsroom—the same wistfulness she saw in Darcy Sanders’s face whenever Bryce the quarterback walked into the room.
Mr. Williams had told Allie she was going to be an amazing woman, a beautiful woman, with a good heart that some lucky guy would discover. He said she was going to make a difference in people’s lives. And he’d even given her a small gift. A book of poems by Emily Dickenson. Poems she’d drawn strength from that year and every year since. She still had that book in her bottom desk drawer.
Could the kind, sensitive man who’d given a young, hurting girl all that comfort and support really have done the exact opposite for Tiffany? And been a home-wrecker, to boot?
It was impossible to fathom.
Sam opened the door and slipped back into the classroom. She shook off her musings. She needed to concentrate on facts, not emotions.
“What do you think?” she asked Sam.
“The observations Meredith described are believable. That she and two others saw Tiffany and Mr. Williams in his classroom. That Tiffany showed signs of pregnancy and left before people could guess. I do remember when she didn’t come back after Christmas. It was odd. We were graduating in the spring. Who leaves in the middle of their senior year? But whether Mr. Williams was the father…well. She’s probably the only one who can answer that.”
Allie agreed.
He strode over to her, took a seat, and leaned his elbows on his knees. He looked tired, his eyelids heavy. “How far do you want to go with this?”
She didn’t pretend that she didn’t know what he meant. It was one thing to conduct their unofficial investigation when it ran parallel with the video project. It was another to go out and search for answers, no longer under the pretense of using it for the video.
She sighed. “Do I want to talk to Tiffany? See if there’s any merit to the claim that she had an affair with her teacher?” It would add no value to her video. But she needed to know if the whole project that she’d been so obsessed with pursuing for these past weeks was a total sham.
Trying to preserve a memory of a man who might best be forgotten.
“Yeah. I think I do.”
He looked grim. “If it’s true, it could open up the list of suspects. A jealous boyfriend. An angry parent who confronted Mr. Williams for taking advantage of his or her little girl.”
“And don’t forget Mr. Williams’s married lover. Hell hath no fury and all that.” Still, she prayed none of it was true.
Sam nodded. “I’ll see if I can track her down. We knew some of the same people.”
“That works for me. My plate is going to be full for the next few days. It’s Vi’s birthday today,” she offered in explanation, “and I’ve promised to take her and three of her friends to the mall for a Build-A-Bear/Cheesecake Factory extravaganza. Actually”—she looked at the time—“I should probably get going. I need to pick them up from school.”
For the sake of her daughter and the wonderful afternoon she wanted to give her, Allie pushed all thoughts of Mr. Williams from her mind.
At least for tonight. Tomorrow, however, was a different story.
…
“How did Vi’s birthday go last night?” Sam asked her early Thursday morning, picking up the coffee carafe she’d just returned to the hot plate.
“Since all the girls pronounced the Build-a-Bear and Cheesecake Factory combo ‘the best birthday ev-ah’, I’d say it was a success.” She poured a healthy serving of salted caramel latte creamer into her mug and stirred as he watched with something close to horror in his expression. At the bears or the creamer, she wasn’t quite sure.
He followed her over to an empty corner table, and they sat down. “Anything out of the ordinary happen?”
She unsuccessfully tried to suppress a yawn and answered, “Not like you mean it. Just the usual stuff.”
“I found Tiffany.”
That jarred her awake. “Whoa. You must have some remarkable connections to have found her so quickly.”
“Not really. I just took a page from you and sent her a friend request on Facebook. She accepted.”
“Ah, the miracle of social media.”
“She still lives here. Out in Cottonwood Heights. Her last name is Fulmer now.”
“Don’t tell me. You’ve