The Still of Night by Kristen Heitzmann Read Free Book Online Page A

blast. You wouldn’t believe the guys who were bald already. And the spreading waistlines …”
    “Well, I don’t care who’s bald, and—”
    “Where’s the paper work?” Shelly dropped the cashews back into the bowl and unfolded her legs.
    Jill waved toward her desk, and Shelly sauntered over, then scooped it up along with a pen and returned to her chair. “Let’s see. Name, address. Marital status—single; children—none.”
    Jill flinched. One .
    Shelly wrote as she talked. “Okay, here’s the good part. In fifty words or less, describe your life today and how Wilson High impacted you. Share the good times, the memories, the heartbreaks, and the high points that made you who you are today.”
    Jill felt her chest closing in. The heartbreaks and high points that made
    her who she was …
    “I’m waiting.” Shelly held the pen above the paper.
    Jill scooped Rascal into her arms and nestled him under her chin. “I don’t want to do this now, Shelly.” She settled onto the couch.
    “It’s not that difficult, Jill. Favorite teacher?”
    “Mrs. Vandersol. American lit.”
    “Sports?”
    “Cheerleading and track.”
    Shelly shook her head. “That’s why you and Dan are so good. You’re both physical fitness fiends. Best memory?”
    “Homecoming, senior year.” My first dance with Morgan .
    “Elaborate.” Shelly held the pen poised.
    Morgan in his dove gray tux, her white satin gown, the cluster of lavender roses and baby’s breath she’d worn on her wrist, the white rosebud she had pinned on Morgan’s lapel, the rosebud he’d crushed when he kissed her good-night.
    “And …” Shelly looped the pen in her hand.
    “And nothing.”
    “Well, who’d you go with, for heaven’s sakes?”
    Jill’s throat tightened painfully. “Morgan Spencer. We were nominated king and queen, so he asked me to the dance.”
    “First date?”
    “Yes.” Though the iridescent hues of her dreams had included Morgan Spencer long before that first date.
    “This is good stuff, Jill.”
    Jill reached over and snatched the paper. “I don’t want that written.”
    “Why not?”
    “It’s personal.”
    “That’s the idea.” Shelly circled her hand in the air.
    Jill folded the paper in her lap. “I’ll write the rest when I’ve thought about it.”
    “Then you’re going?”
    “Maybe.”
    Shelly arched her eyebrows and curled her fingers into claws. “I vant a promise.”
    Jill laughed. “All right, I’ll go. But I’m not filling up this page with mushy stuff no one cares about. I’ll say how Mrs. Vandersol instilled a love for teaching that I’ve carried with me into my work.”
    “Oh blah-de-blah-de-blah.”
    “Sorry.”
    “You’ll get into the spirit when you get there. Let’s see … it’s next week? You’re way overdue for sending in to the memory book.”
    “Rats.” Jill clicked her fingers.
    “You do not have the right attitude, girl.”
    Jill smiled. “Well, I’m a little short of attitude these days.”
    Shelly stood. “I have to run. Brett does expect to eat, even on the weekends, if you can believe it. Here.” She scooped up the rest of the envelopes. “Read your mail.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    Jill walked her out the door, gave her a squeeze. “Thanks for the lollipop.” Though she probably would never finish it. As Shelly said, they must have removed her sweet tooth with her wisdom teeth. She turned back inside, flipping through the envelopes that had accumulated while she battled the past week. Her hand froze on the creamy stationery envelope near the bottom. Her breath came in disjointed jerks as she stared at the name on the return label. Benson . She closed her eyes and forced her diaphragm to form three deep breaths.
    Roger and Cinda Benson. Parents of Kelsey Renée Benson. She had thought it a nice name when they told her. But she had dreamed so many times since that it could have been Kelsey Runyan.
    Jill stared at the envelope, the neat rounded script. Her name