September Canvas by Gun Brooke Page B

place.”
    “You assume correctly.”
    “And why does she want to talk to you? And when?”
    “Don’t know. ASAP.”
    The short sentences didn’t help clarify anything. Faythe backtracked to what Kitty-with-a-heart had said. “Someone mentioned immoral behavior. Did they accuse you of having an affair with a student?”
    “Yes. And no.”
    “Could you elaborate? I don’t understand.”
    “Savannah told her friends that she and I were lovers, that we used the office in the high school art studio for our romantic trysts.” Deanna pulled back and pushed Faythe off her lap. Tucking her legs up underneath her, she continued. “She also told them that I seduced her and that we planned to elope to Canada. Needless to say, her parents—the mayor and his wife—were less than pleased. They started a vendetta against me, the local press even ran the story, and I resigned.”

Chapter Twelve
    Deanna rinsed their plates, not sure how she’d ended up in the kitchen so fast. One minute, she was sitting with Faythe on the couch, spilling everything she’d promised herself not to stain their friendship with, and now she was standing by the sink with her back to Faythe. Thoughts careened back and forth in her aching head, and she wanted to grab her jacket and get out of the cabin. Just to breathe.
    “Need help?” Faythe’s soft voice merely sounded friendly in a non-committal way.
    “No. Thanks. I’ve got it.” Unable to speak other than in staccato, Deanna wiped her hands and turned around, determined not to act like a coward. She met Faythe’s eyes without blinking. “So. There you have it.” 
    “I want to hear your side of it.” Faythe was propped against the door frame, looking calm, though a bit guarded.
    “Why? Nobody’s ever asked for my version of the truth.” Two years’ worth of anger simmered just beneath the surface, and Deanna could taste it as she spoke. It wasn’t fair to take it out on Faythe, but she was the only one here.
    “Often things aren’t quite as they seem. I’ve learned that by conducting hundreds of interviews. If I look at this situation logically, I see clear discrepancies between what I know about you and what you just told me about this Savannah girl.” Faythe didn’t sound casual and sweet-natured. Her vocabulary and her voice quality had changed.
    Deanna guessed this was how the professional Faythe sounded when she entered people’s breakfast nook from their TV screens. Professional, articulate, shrewd, and stunningly beautiful.
    “Guess this wasn’t what you had in mind when you showed up on my doorstep, huh?” Deanna motioned toward the coffee machine on the countertop. “Coffee?”
    “Yes, please. We could probably both use a mug.” Faythe sat down at the small table by the window overlooking the lake. The moon was filtering rays of pale blue light between the maples and creating shimmering sparkles on the water. Deanna was in no mood to appreciate the breathtaking beauty, but sat down across from Faythe.
    “Just tell me, Deanna,” Faythe said quietly. “It’s about time you told someone.”
    “It’s not that easy.” Deanna followed a scratch in the old oak table with her index finger. “It’s not just about me.”
    “This isn’t an interview.” Faythe squeezed Deanna’s hand. “It’s not even an off-the-record thing. I’m not sitting here in my professional capacity. I’m just me now.”
    “All right.” Deanna could actually feel energy stream from Faythe’s hand. She wasn’t comfortable with showing any sign of neediness, but clung to Faythe with cold fingers. “I moved here nine years ago, for family reasons. The first two years I barely supported myself as an illustrator, then got a job as an arts teacher at Grantville High School. I loved working with the kids, especially the ones in junior high. I managed to keep my career as an illustrator going at the same time, and everything seemed to fall into place.”
    “Until…”
    “Until