She pulled the mask back into place over her mouth and nose. She stood up as the bus belched its way to her stop. Her knee started to ache as soon as she walked down the stairs. On the sidewalk, she patterned her breath after her steps, letting three pops of her knee go by before she inhaled, then slowly letting air hiss between her teeth during the next three.
The chain-link fence on her right ringed around a massive outdoor stadium. Callie let her fingers trail along the metal diamonds until they abruptly stopped at a tall pole. She found herself in a wide, open concrete space at the mouth of a soccer stadium. There was a sign outside with a bumble bee buzzing out BEE HAPPY—BEE SAFE—BEE WELL—WE ARE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER.
Callie doubted that last part was meant to be taken literally. When she was a teenager, she had seen stadiums like this when her cheerleading team had competed against private schools. The Lake Point girls were muscled stallions with thick waists and bulging arms and thighs. By comparison, the Hollis Academy girls had been pale grasshoppers and stick-bugs.
Callie passed the closed concession stand on her way into the stadium. Thirty yards away, a security guard in a parked golf cart was tracking her progress. She didn’t want trouble. She entered through the first tunnel she could find. Then she put her back to the wall and waited in the cool shade for the sound of the battery whirring as the rent-a-cop came to eject her from the premises.
There was no whir, but paranoia soon flooded her brain. Had the security guard made a phone call? Was there someone inside the stadium waiting for her? Had she been followed from the bus stop? Had she been followed from home?
Back at the library, Callie had perused the website for Reginald Paltz and Associates. Reggie looked every inch the rapey-gone-to-seed fratboy that Leigh had described, but Callie couldn’t honestly say that he had been the same camera-strangling man who’d been disgorged from the boarded-up house. Nor could she say that all of the faces she kept scanning, all of the people in the cars on the road or inside the library, hadn’t been in league with him.
Callie pressed her hand to her chest as if she could knead away the anxiety. Her heart flicked against her ribs like a hungry lizard’s tongue. She hadn’t seen the glimmer or flash of a stalker in the last two days but, everywhere she went, she could not shake the feeling that she was being recorded. Even now, hidden in this damp, dark place, she felt like a lens was capturing her every move.
You can’t make a stink about the camera, dolly. I could go to prison.
She pushed away from the wall. She was halfway through the tunnel when she heard yelling and clapping from the stands. Again, the light blinded Callie as she walked out into the sun. She cupped her hands to her eyes and scanned the crowd. Parents were seated in clumps across the rows, mangy cheering sections for the girls on the field. Callie turned again, and she watched the team run practice drills. The high schoolers looked like gazelles, if gazelles wore soccer uniforms and didn’t bounce up and down like lunatics when they felt threatened.
Another turn, another look at the stands. Callie spotted Walter easily enough. He was one of two fathers watching soccer practice, even though she had it on good authority that Walter did not, in fact, enjoy soccer.
He clearly recognized Callie as she made the arduous climb up the stadium stairs. His eyes were unreadable, but she could guess what was going on in his mind. Still, he kept his own counsel as she made her way down his row. Callie gathered the school was adhering to Footloose Rules: no dancing, no singing, no hollering, no fun. She left three seats between her and Walter when she sat down.
He said, “Welcome, friend.”
Callie peeled off her mask so she could catch her breath. “It’s good to see you, Walter.”
His eyes were still guarded, which was fair. The last time Callie and Walter had been in the same room together was not their finest hour. They were outside Leigh’s condo in the little utility closet that contained the trash chute. For ten days, Walter had come by twice a day to inject heroin between Callie’s toes because the only way that she could take care of Leigh was if she had enough dope to keep herself from getting sick.
Her sister’s husband was tougher than he looked.
Walter said, “I like your jacket.”
“It’s from high school.” Callie turned around in her seat so he could see the rainbow on the back. “I can’t believe it still fits.”
“Nice,” he said, though she could tell he had bigger issues on his mind. “Your sister seems to be crying a lot lately.”