Memories of You

“When I read your name,” Camilla went on, “please indicate your presence with the word here and a raised hand so I’m able to check you off on the list. Regular attendance in class is vital because we’ll be moving rather quickly through a very large body of material. Anybody who skips more than two sessions without a valid excuse will receive a grade of incomplete on the term. Is that understood?”

The students nodded.

Camilla looked down at her alphabetized class list. “Aaronson?”

“Here.”

“Anders?”

“Here.”

“Appleby?”

“Yo, Doc!”

Camilla glanced up sharply. Appleby, who wore a bandanna and a couple of earrings, gave her a cherubic smile and waved. Camilla ignored him and went on reading names.

The sixth name was Campbell, and Camilla looked up at the speaker.

My God, it’s Jon! she thought in confusion. But how can it possibly…that was twenty years ago, and I saw the man yesterday in my…

She struggled to get her thoughts under control while the students watched her curiously.

Of course. This had to be Jon Campbell’s son.

He was no more than eighteen or nineteen, but he looked exactly like Jon as a young man. This boy had the same clean-cut good looks and direct blue eyes, the thick brown hair highlighted by streaks of gold after long days in the summer sun…

Camilla took herself firmly in hand and continued to call off the students’ names, stealing a couple of glances at Steven Campbell as she read.

Despite the physical resemblance, he certainly didn’t have the same open, pleasant look that Jon used to have. This boy seemed sullen and morose, coldly withdrawn.

Still, the unexpected appearance of him in her class was unnerving. And yet, deep down, there was a warm and unsettling feeling of excitement, too, when she looked up at the boy and remembered…

Twenty years ago, she told herself. Long ago, lost in the past.

Not even Jon Campbell remembered.

She shoved the thoughts out of her mind and finished taking attendance, then spoke to the students.

“Open your notebooks and write me a two-page essay about your goals in life,” she said amid a chorus of groans.

“What if I don’t have any?” Appleby inquired, grinning around at his fellow students.

Camilla gave the boy a thoughtful glance. “Goals don’t necessarily have to be personal, Mr. Appleby. If you have no goals for yourself, perhaps you have some for the human race, or for the planet. At any rate, I want a two-page essay on goals, and I want it to be accompanied by your full name, and your class and student number so I can begin to get to know each of you.”

Steven Campbell glared into the distance for a while, concentrating, then began to write. Although she was still badly shaken by the boy’s presence, Camilla found herself looking forward to reading his essay.

She moved around the room, up and down the tiers of seats while her students worked, and passed the time answering questions, offering advice on punctuation and style.

She paused briefly by Steven Campbell’s desk, looking down at his thick, gold-streaked hair and his broad shoulders. Even his hands were shaped like Jon’s, lean and strong, with square fingernails.

Camilla remembered those hands…

“Is your father by any chance a student here on campus, Mr. Campbell?” she murmured, wanting to hear his voice.

The boy gave her a noncommittal glance. “Yeah,” he said. “My dad’s taking some classes. My little brother and sister are here, too,” he added grudgingly, looking down at his paper.

“I beg your pardon?” Camilla asked.

“My twin brother and sister,” the boy repeated. “They’re seven years old. They’re in some kind of special class for egghead kids.”

“That’s our accelerated study group. In fact, I think I’ll probably be meeting your brother and sister later this afternoon.”

The boy nodded without interest as she moved away.

A couple of tiers higher, Camilla noticed a darkhaired girl laboring over her paper. Tears glittered in the young woman’s eyes. Camilla mounted the stairs unobtrusively to stand next to her.

“Is something the matter?” she whispered.

The girl looked up at her in anguish. “I can’t do this!”

“It doesn’t have to be a masterpiece,” Camilla said. “Just a few words about yourself and your goals.”

The student shook her head. “I mean this whole college thing. I’ve been out of school for four years, working and saving to come here. Now I’m in a panic. It’s all so hard, and there’s a ton of reading to do, and I—” Her voice broke.

Camilla knelt beside the girl’s desk and put an arm around her shoulders. “I know it feels pretty overwhelming at this stage,” she murmured, “but it’ll all fall into place within a week or two. Trust me, you’re going to feel a whole lot better after a few more classes. In the meantime,” she added, “drop by my office anytime and I’ll do what I can to help out.”

The girl looked up, her face clearing a little. “Really, Dr. Pritchard?”

Camilla got to her feet, one hand still resting on the student’s shoulder. “I was a freshman once, too,” she said. “And I was even more terrified than you are. I’ll be glad to help.”

The girl managed a trembling smile. Camilla smiled back, then moved up the steps to watch as the others toiled away at their essays.

They’re my children, Camilla thought. All these young people are the children I’ve never had.

Involuntarily, she glanced at Steven Campbell’s bent head and felt a deep wave of sadness.

CONSIDERING ALL the bizarre things that were happening to her this term, it took a lot of courage for Camilla to head over to Gwen’s classroom after lunch and keep her appointment with the study group.

She went down the hall and knocked on the door of a comfortable suite of rooms where the gifted children learned everything from chemistry to judo.

“Come in,” Gwen called, and Camilla entered to find a lively session in progress.

The students, about a dozen of them ranging from six to ten years old, were constructing a solar system out of papier-måché, hanging their planets in proper scale from a sunlamp in the center of the room.

“Children, this is Dr. Pritchard,” Gwen told the students. “She’s going to be dropping in to play games with us and ask some of you a whole lot of questions. Say hello, class.”

“Hello,” Camilla said, smiling at them.