root? Quick!”
“Eight,” the little girl said absently. “Margaret,” she added with a smile for Camilla.
“The housekeeper’s name is Margaret?” she asked.
Ari nodded. “Eighty-one.”
“Nine,” Amy said.
“Margaret has a boyfriend,” Ari said. “His name’s Eddie. He works way up north on the oil rigs. And Tom has a girlfriend, but Margaret says they’ll never get married.”
“Who’s Tom?” Camilla asked.
“He’s the foreman at the ranch.”
“Your father’s ranch?”
Amy giggled. “Once, Ari put Tom’s brand-new cowboy boots into the rain barrel.”
“They were made out of alligator skin,” Ari said. “I wanted to see if they’d float.”
Camilla laughed. “And did they float?”
Ari shook his head, looking glum. “Tom was real mad at us. He wouldn’t let me ride my pony for a whole week. But after that, he said it didn’t matter because those boots needed to shrink a bit anyhow.”
Something in the child’s voice made Camilla stop and kneel beside him again.
“Do you miss the ranch, dear?”
Ari looked away from her while Amy waited silently nearby.
After a moment, Camilla got to her feet again. “I’ll tell you what,” she said with sudden decision. “Let’s forget about those tests for now, okay? Let’s go down to the cafeteria and get some ice-cream cones.”
They spent a long time in the cafeteria choosing the flavors of their cones. Finally Ari selected pistachio and Amy took raspberry.
“What kind should I get?” Camilla asked.
The twins exchanged a glance. “Butterscotch ripple,” Amy said firmly.
“Why?” Camilla said, intrigued.
“Because you’re all white and gold,” Ari said.
“I see,” she sad, smiling.
“How long has Margaret been your housekeeper?” Camilla asked idly while they were sitting on a rock ledge outside the cafeteria.
“A long time. Since we were babies. Look,” Amy said, pointing to a black bird worrying a scrap of bread on the grass. “That’s a raven.”
“Nevermore,” Ari croaked, then laughed. “It’s not a raven, it’s a crow. Ravens are bigger. Did you know that our daddy goes to this college?” he asked Camilla with one of the lightning changes of subject she was becoming accustomed to.
“I certainly do. He’s in one of my classes, and so is your brother, Steven.”
The twins considered this. Camilla took advantage of their brief silence to return to the topic of Jon Campbell’s household.
“Does Margaret help your mother with the cooking and everything?”
“Our mother lives in Switzerland,” Amy said, “where all the mountains are.”
“There’s mountains here, too,” Ari said. “Look, you can see them from here.” He waved his hand toward the western horizon.
Camilla felt guilty about pumping small children for personal information, but the temptation was too great. “When did your mother go to Switzerland?”
“When we were born.” Ari pulled off some bits of the cone and tossed them toward the crow.
“You mean she took you away to Switzerland?”
“No, she left us here and went by herself because she didn’t love Daddy anymore. She says he’s a selfish pig who only cares about himself, so she went away.”
The child’s tone was flat and unemotional as he stared at the big bird.
Camilla thought about Ari’s words. The accusation against Jon Campbell seemed extreme, especially coming from a woman who’d apparently abandoned her own children. But perhaps Jon Campbell wasn’t the man she’d always thought. Maybe he was actually the kind of person who’d use his wealth and power to separate a woman from her newborn babies.
“When are we going to play games?” Ari was asking, tugging at her arm.
“Right away.” Camilla got to her feet and brushed at her skirt. “Let’s go to my office and see how much fun we can have.”
They went inside the building again. In the crowded hallway, the twins moved to each side of her and reached for her hands. The three of them walked along the corridor, swinging their arms, and in spite of her nagging fears, Camilla felt a wholly unexpected surge of happiness.
“A VITALLY IMPORTANT part of creative writing,” Camilla told her senior class, “is the ability to give your reader a sense of place. This is accomplished by means of descriptive passages, but they have to be used sparingly or they’ll overpower the narrative.”
“Like garlic salt,” one of the students suggested, and Camilla smiled.
“Like garlic salt,” she agreed. “A little bit is delicious, but too much will spoil the dish. As you work your way through the reading list, I think you’ll find that all of the great writers are masters at description. Now, for your next assignment, I want you to take some time this weekend and do a couple of pages describing the most beautiful place you’ve ever seen.”
Hands shot up all over the room. “Can it be an imaginary place? What if it’s something that’s only beautiful to me, but nobody else? How many words should the essay be?”
She moved around the room to answer their questions, conscious of Jon Campbell watching her steadily from his seat at the back.
This was the fifth session of this class, and she was becoming accustomed to having him nearby. But it was still disturbing to see him lounge in his desk as he watched her with that thoughtful blue gaze.
By now, though, Camilla was convinced that the man really didn’t remember. Maybe the incident had meant so little to him that he’d forgotten it as soon as it happened.
Or maybe, like her, he’d repressed the past, buried all of those memories in some deep place where they were never disturbed.
She still had hopes that he might be intimidated enough by the major assignment he’d been given to drop the course altogether. But even this faint hope was beginning to fade. Jon Campbell didn’t appear to be a man who was easily intimidated, and his written work showed a surprising degree of skill.
The main problem for Camilla was that her own dark vault of memory seemed to be opening, slowly but relentlessly.
For instance, the nightmares were creeping back, although it had been years since they’d last haunted her. She found herself waking abruptly at three in the morning, drenched with perspiration, shaking in terror.
And there were other disturbing flashes of memory that leaped at her from unexpected places, things so much at odds with the carefully controlled life she’d made for herself that she could hardly bear the pain….
“That’s all for today,” she told the class with a glance at her watch. “I’ll be in my office this afternoon if any of you want help related to your major research papers. Thank you, and have a nice weekend.”
She went to the desk and began to gather her papers, conscious of Jon Campbell’s approach. Her senses seemed to be so finely attuned to this man that her body had some mysterious way of knowing when he