“They lied to me.” He handed over the letter. “I can’t believe it.”

“I can.” She read the letter, then threw it down on the counter. “What else is new? They’ve been screwing the teachers every year since we’ve been here. What made you think they were going to change?”

Doug picked up the second envelope. As he’d suspected, it was an official letter from the board, apologizing for not having enough money in the budget to buy his requested copies of Huckleberry Finn.

He tore the letter up and opened the cupboard under the sink, throwing the pieces into the garbage sack.

Tritia was starting to unload the grocery sacks, but Doug handed her the single envelope addressed to her. “Open it,” he said.

“Now?”

“I have a theory.”

Tritia took the envelope from him and carefully opened it, reading the short enclosed note. No, she thought, this can’t be real. She read over the letter once more:

What makes you think I would want to meet with you? You were always a smug self-satisfied bitch, and I have no reason to believe that you have changed…

Smug self-satisfied bitch.

It was a phrase Paula had often used to describe women she did not like, and it lent the message an authenticity not found in the stilted phrasing of the rest of the letter. Tritia’s lips suddenly felt dry. Of course, she had never told Doug of her last meeting with Paula, of what had been said on both sides. She had let him believe that they had simply drifted apart after the move and she had kept up the pretense of a friendship long after contact had been cut off.

But after all these years, and after reading that letter, she had honestly thought that Paula might want to get together again. Lord knows, she had often thought of Paula in the intervening years, had often regretted the things she’d said. The two of them had been such good friends and their falling out over such a relatively minor item that she’d had no trouble believing that Paula wanted to meet.

Smug self-satisfied bitch.

“What is it?” Doug asked.

She quickly folded the letter, not wanting him to see. “Paula’s not going to be able to come,” she said. “She changed her mind.”

“Apparently so did Don,” Doug said dryly. He handed her a letter from Don Jennings. There were only two words between the salutation and the signature: “Fuck you.”

Tritia blinked, not believing her eyes. She could not recall hearing Don ever use profanity. Not even “shit” or “hell” or “damn.” She glanced up at Doug. “That’s not like him,” she said. “Not unless he’s changed an awful lot since we knew him.”

“I don’t think it’s from Don.”

“Do you—”