by those deep-as-a-quarry, understanding eyes. I looked out the window.
When I glanced back, he was eyeing the maps I had spread in front of me. “What are you looking for?” he asked.
I shrugged and studied High Street again. “A lot of things. A grocery store, a muffler shop, my aunt’s lawyer, a murderer.”
His hand rested on mine. “That’s a big list,” he said gently.
I pulled my hand away. “Yes.”
“It must be really hard for you.”
I looked him in the eye. “Not as hard as it is for Aunt Iris. And not half as hard as it was for an old man whose property was being vandalized by spoiled kids.”
Zack sat back in his chair. There was a guarded expression on his face.
A quick glance told me the girl and guy at the other table were still watching us intently. “Do your friends lip-read?” I asked.
Zack turned, then nodded at them. I didn’t know what that gesture meant. Maybe he was telling his friends
yes
in response to some question they’d asked; maybe he was just acknowledging the fact that they were staring at us. Turning to me again, he said, “I’ve got to get back to work,” then rose and left the café.
I shrugged off his abruptness. When he was gone, I gathered up my stuff and walked toward the small waterside park I had passed earlier. I found a bench close to the river and put in a call to the lawyer’s office. Her secretary gave me an appointment for three that afternoon, plus directions to a food store and a local gas station, one that would fix mufflers. I was feeling better now, more in control, working down my list of things to do. For a moment I relaxed, gazing out at the river, listening to the clink-clink of a line against the mast of an anchored boat. I watched a sailboat tack, its triangle of white shifting, becoming dazzling against the blue.
Suddenly, I had the feeling that someone was watching me. I turned around.
He was sprawled under a tree, the guy I had seen at TeaLeaves, the one sitting with Zack’s girlfriend. I turned back to the river.
It’s a park,
I reminded myself;
people come here to sit and gaze at the river.
But I felt uneasy. I couldn’t shake the feeling he was here because I was.
I exited the park, acting as if I hadn’t noticed him. As I walked up High Street, I glanced once over my shoulder, but I didn’t see him, not till I doubled back to check what was playing at the movie theater. He slowed to a stop and found something interesting in a store window.
I moved on. He moved on. I crossed the street. He crossed the street. Did he think I wouldn’t notice him, or did he hope I would? Maybe this was harassment; after all, he knew I could identify him as Zack’s friend. This was just a game.
Game or not, I was getting ticked. I longed to confront him, but city living had taught me that you don’t confront people you don’t know. I darted up a set of steps and into a shop. If he followed me into a place with a shopkeeper and some kind of security, then I’d take him on.
Looking down from the shop window, I saw him stop in the middle of the brick sidewalk. His long, thin mouth shaped itself into a smile, as if he were amused by the fact that his rabbit had found a hole. He glanced up. At first I thought he saw me, but he was looking higher, at the words painted on the window. It took me a moment to decode the backward letters: ALWAYS CHRISTMAS. It was easy, however, to read his response: the F word. I wondered why his amusement would change so quickly to anger. He moved on. I hoped he was giving up, not waiting out of sight.
“May I help you?”
I turned quickly, then stepped away from catastrophe: One swing of my backpack and I would have cleared a shelf of ceramic angels.
“Is there something I can help you with?” the woman asked, eyeing my backpack.
“This is a nice shop.” My response sounded lame.
“Thank you.”
I needed to buy some time, to encourage Zack’s friend to find another quarry.
“May I look
When I glanced back, he was eyeing the maps I had spread in front of me. “What are you looking for?” he asked.
I shrugged and studied High Street again. “A lot of things. A grocery store, a muffler shop, my aunt’s lawyer, a murderer.”
His hand rested on mine. “That’s a big list,” he said gently.
I pulled my hand away. “Yes.”
“It must be really hard for you.”
I looked him in the eye. “Not as hard as it is for Aunt Iris. And not half as hard as it was for an old man whose property was being vandalized by spoiled kids.”
Zack sat back in his chair. There was a guarded expression on his face.
A quick glance told me the girl and guy at the other table were still watching us intently. “Do your friends lip-read?” I asked.
Zack turned, then nodded at them. I didn’t know what that gesture meant. Maybe he was telling his friends
yes
in response to some question they’d asked; maybe he was just acknowledging the fact that they were staring at us. Turning to me again, he said, “I’ve got to get back to work,” then rose and left the café.
I shrugged off his abruptness. When he was gone, I gathered up my stuff and walked toward the small waterside park I had passed earlier. I found a bench close to the river and put in a call to the lawyer’s office. Her secretary gave me an appointment for three that afternoon, plus directions to a food store and a local gas station, one that would fix mufflers. I was feeling better now, more in control, working down my list of things to do. For a moment I relaxed, gazing out at the river, listening to the clink-clink of a line against the mast of an anchored boat. I watched a sailboat tack, its triangle of white shifting, becoming dazzling against the blue.
Suddenly, I had the feeling that someone was watching me. I turned around.
He was sprawled under a tree, the guy I had seen at TeaLeaves, the one sitting with Zack’s girlfriend. I turned back to the river.
It’s a park,
I reminded myself;
people come here to sit and gaze at the river.
But I felt uneasy. I couldn’t shake the feeling he was here because I was.
I exited the park, acting as if I hadn’t noticed him. As I walked up High Street, I glanced once over my shoulder, but I didn’t see him, not till I doubled back to check what was playing at the movie theater. He slowed to a stop and found something interesting in a store window.
I moved on. He moved on. I crossed the street. He crossed the street. Did he think I wouldn’t notice him, or did he hope I would? Maybe this was harassment; after all, he knew I could identify him as Zack’s friend. This was just a game.
Game or not, I was getting ticked. I longed to confront him, but city living had taught me that you don’t confront people you don’t know. I darted up a set of steps and into a shop. If he followed me into a place with a shopkeeper and some kind of security, then I’d take him on.
Looking down from the shop window, I saw him stop in the middle of the brick sidewalk. His long, thin mouth shaped itself into a smile, as if he were amused by the fact that his rabbit had found a hole. He glanced up. At first I thought he saw me, but he was looking higher, at the words painted on the window. It took me a moment to decode the backward letters: ALWAYS CHRISTMAS. It was easy, however, to read his response: the F word. I wondered why his amusement would change so quickly to anger. He moved on. I hoped he was giving up, not waiting out of sight.
“May I help you?”
I turned quickly, then stepped away from catastrophe: One swing of my backpack and I would have cleared a shelf of ceramic angels.
“Is there something I can help you with?” the woman asked, eyeing my backpack.
“This is a nice shop.” My response sounded lame.
“Thank you.”
I needed to buy some time, to encourage Zack’s friend to find another quarry.
“May I look
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