I was in a bookstore, and a name leapt off the cover of a paperback at me.

Beth Randall. I stopped dead. I’d known a Beth Randall. She’d been in a creative writing class in college. I’d had a wild crush on her at the time but had never gotten up the courage to ask her out. Though beautiful, she’d also been quiet, even mousy.

I picked up the book and flipped to the back page. There was an author’s photo there. Sure enough, it was the Beth I knew, a couple years older but still a ravishing beauty.

I bought the book, of course. I hadn’t pursued writing, but Beth obviously had. I was happy for her success. That evening I eagerly started reading her novel.

Old memories plucked at me before I even finished the first pages. Beth’s quiet manner had always... Read More