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A Turn and 98 Left

by William P. Hart Jr.

155 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #02-0598; ISBN 1-55369-785-5; US$17.00, C$21.06, EUR13.70, £9.50

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about the book      about the author      sample excerpts      catalogue info

About the Book Book Summary: Paul Murphy is hitting a pivotal stretch in his life. Before he realizes what forces he must contend with, he'll be deciding whom to love and what to believe. Is the seductive Anne acceptable? Is the honest Emily obtainable? Is the unpredictable Jane compatible? A Turn and 98 Left is an unexpected epic, in which attraction sets in motion a reluctant campaign to cope with our mysterious origins and dubious fate.

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About the Author William P. Hart Jr. was born and raised in Cary, North Carolina. He currently attends the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and serves as a journalist in the Army Reserves. He is also a member of the First United Methodist Church in Cary.

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Sample Excerpts

"She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me." He had wandered off the trail at the park across from the restaurant and was stooped down in the grass.

"What are you doing?" asked Jane. She stood on the path looking over his shoulder.

"She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me." He tossed another small green stem aside and reached down again.

"I don't think that's how you do it." Jane crept to the edge of the path and checked for people walking by, as if Paul were engaged in an illegal activity.

"She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me."

Jane bent down closer and watched him pick up another clover and tear the leaves off.

"She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me."

"It's fixed," she protested. "It's not fair."

"She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me."

"How long are you gonna do this for? You can't possibly need this much assurance."

"She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me."

"What happens if you get one with four leaves?" She expected him to stop and answer her question, but he kept up the same methodical pace, poring over the clovers with scientific precision and tossing stems to the side.

"She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me."

"It wouldn't be all that lucky would it?"

"She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me."

He paused for a moment and held his finger up.

"Now what?" she asked impatiently, giving a glance around her to make sure the path was clear.

He snatched up another one and showed it to Jane. It had four leaves. He winked and pulled it in front of him.

"She loves me not. She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me."

"Hey, not fair at all! You can't do that!" she pushed him forward from his crouched position and he sprawled out onto the grass. He rolled over on his back and propped himself up on his elbows.

"Seems lucky to me," he said, taking a blade of grass from his mouth.

Jane eased down next to him and they kissed. He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket, and she watched his face in an effort to read what he was up to. He did not move to unfold it and made her wait a few moments while he spoke.

"You start with a piece of paper, you see?" he said to her. "Then you take a pencil or crayon or marker and beautify it how you wish." He motioned as though he were drawing on the folded paper. Jane maintained her curiosity, her chin in her hand, if only to humor him. "Finally you fold it up, once and twice and three times, until it's bundled in this tight little package." He waved it out in front of them. "And it's never about where the paper came from or why it's crayons and not markers, or markers and not crayons. People will talk about how it's all folded up into a cute little package, see? And they'll say how adorable lovebirds are with their folded notes. One layer upon the next, and then another two on the first. It builds and doubles so that it feels like there's more than there is, and when you open it up it has all these wrinkles." He unfolded the note slowly as he explained it. "And when you open it you've reversed the process, like with a gift, but this way you start with nothing and you end up with a special message that you can't undo without destroying it all."

"Why is it blank?" asked Jane.

"What's that?"

"I asked why it's blank."

Paul looked down at the plain paper and was surprised not to see any writing, although he had known it was blank. "Good question," he said to parry her advance.

"And?" she thrust her question upon him.

"I'm thinking. Give me a chance. I‹I hadn't planned through this far."

Paul twisted and turned the sheet of paper every direction and pondered with obvious effort on his face.

Jane picked herself up off the ground and started down the path.

Let me know if you figure it out," she called back to him as she walked away.

"Wait! Don't go yet!" He crumpled the paper, cramming it into his pocket again as he chased her down.

"I'm listening...if you have an answer now," she told him when he caught her, holding her hand out to deny him any say.

"Uh...um. Well, I...."

"Like I thought."

"Okay‹okay I have it now."

She stopped. "I'm listening."

"Aw, it's no good now‹you're all built up for it."

"I give up," she said and continued on.

"It's me, Jane!" he shouted after she was ten feet down the dirt path.

"What?" she asked as she faced him.

"The paper is me," he said much softer. "It's me without you."

"So what does it mean for us?"

"We have to draw on each other."

"Draw or write?"

"It doesn't matter as long as we don't leave it blank."

"Let me see the paper," she said, stepping forward and holding her hand out with an interested look on her face.

"Okay," said Paul obediently. He grabbed the wadded paper from his pocket and handed it over to her.

"What happens if it's all folded up and wrinkled like this before I even get to write or draw on it?"

"Well, it's not me exactly. I'm not waded up like that."

"But what if you were?"

"There wouldn't be a reason for you to want me then."

"Is there a reason now?"

"Funny," he said, a bit offended.

"Seriously. Why must I want you now?"

"Be quiet. What's gotten into you?"

"Not as easy as picking clover petals, is it?" she asked triumphantly.

"All your nonsense to prove that point?" he fought back.

"It's not the point," she answered.

"Okay, so why must I want you?"

You have no choice."

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Catalogue Information

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