Woe! It’s Wednesday.

July 2007 Uncle Phil and Evelyn having a tea party

Regular readers know I’ve ranted a bit about death and how it sneaks up on us when we’re not watching. You also know we’ve lost some dear friends and loved ones in the last few years.
My Uncle Phil left us early this month.
Technically, he was my step-uncle since he was my step-mother’s brother.
He never treated me or my siblings or my husband or my children as anything except beloved family.
Phil was exuberant. Enthusiastic. Endearing.
He loved to cook and golf and fish and go to baseball games. Even more though, he loved to share those passions with his family.
We would visit my stepmother and Phil was always eager to share his latest recipe or wine.
At Phil’s memorial service, several people shared stories about how Phil discovered their love of raspberries or a certain liqueur. Afterwards, Phil always made sure he had that brand or that fruit or that whatever when they visited him. Or he would bring the raspberry tart to them when he came over to play cards or dominoes. 
At the memorial service and luncheon afterwards, there was plenty of laughter, a few tears, some delicious food, and lots of family.
The only thing missing was Uncle Phil’s presence.
When I was searching for an appropriate poem or quote to share, I found this from THE LORD OF THE RINGS:

PIPPIN: "I didn't think it would end this way."
GANDALF: "End? No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path, one that we all must take. The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass, and then you see it."
PIPPIN: "What? Gandalf? See what?"
GANDALF: "White shores, and beyond, a far green country under a swift sunrise."
PIPPIN: "Well, that isn't so bad."
GANDALF: "No. No, it isn't.”

Book Talk Tuesday

 

I love to read. I’ll read anything pretty much. 

In first grade, I quickly leaped from Dick and Jane to Donna Parker and Trixie Belden.

 

Some friends loved Cherry Ames, RN. I read a few of them, but they didn’t ignite love in my little heart like Donna and Trixie.

Then came Nancy.

She needs no introduction.

 

I’ve been blessed to meet one of the modern day Nancy Drew authors. I think her current sleuth, Kate Gallagher, is modeled after Nancy. Plucky. Brave.

Although I haven’t read anything recently about Nancy, I did watch the Emma Roberts movie and enjoyed it.

From Nancy, I moved on to Agatha Christie.

There are some dated and archaic references, but for the most part, Agatha Christie, Miss Marple, Hercule Poirot, and Tuppence Beresford all hold up pretty well. Because, as Miss Marple is wont to say: “Human nature is much the same the world over.”

What do you love to read? And what brings you back to your childhood reading favorites?

Technorati Tags: Nancy Drew,Donna Parker,Trixie Belden,Agatha Christie

Fiction Friday: Curve Ball

We're racing toward the finish line!

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Technorati Tags: Curve Ball,Fiction Friday

Chapter Thirty-Four

Grant took the off ramp at twenty miles over the posted speed limit. God, don’t let me be too late. Kyle’s voice over the phone had been pitched a little lower than usual. The calm tone scared Grant more than the words.

“She’s all mine. But I’m sure there’s someone else out there for you.”

He had flown to Paige’s first but Cami wasn’t there. Her message said she was going home so he headed there, searching oncoming traffic for the familiar silhouette of her dark blue Tahoe.

He let out a breath of thanks as he rounded a corner and saw the SUV in her driveway.

Seconds later, he bounded up the steps and knocked on the door as he called out.

“Cami? It’s me.” He rattled the doorknob and it turned easily. Uh oh. She would never leave her front door unlocked. Foreboding plunked back into his gut.

He pushed the door open and called again, but softer. “Cami. Are you here?”

“In the kitchen.” The quiet voice sent a chill through him. Kyle.

He wriggled out of his sling and stuffed it behind his back, into the waistband of his jeans, as he tiptoed through the living room. It might make this easier if Kyle thought Grant’s arm was back to full strength.

Cami’s terrified eyes met Grant’s as he stepped into the kitchen. She sat at the table, Kyle behind her, his left arm circling her neck. He held a knife in his right hand. Pressed against her jugular. A plate of cupcakes and a teapot on the table in front of her completed the absurd picture.

“Welcome to our home, Mr. Andrews.” Kyle’s voice was as calm as when he’d called Grant earlier. “We’re pleased to have you visit.”

Grant couldn’t think. What do you say to a teenager holding a knife to his teacher’s neck? The teacher they both loved.

“Your home?” The words caught in his throat so he cleared it and tried again. “I don’t understand. This is your home?”

“I know you’ve grown very fond of Camille, and I appreciate all you’ve done for her. I’ll be taking care of her from now on. You can go.”

Grant fought down a wholly inappropriate laugh. Did this kid really think he would walk out and leave him holding a knife at Cami’s neck?

“Kyle, you know I can’t do that.”

The teenager grinned at him. “I figured you’d say that, but I wanted to be a gracious host.”

“Host?”

“Miss Henderson- I mean Cami – and I are in love. L. O. V. E. It’s been hard for her, having to pretend she cared about you while her heart ached for me. We had to be careful because I was her student and a minor. But guess what, Mr. Andrews?” He gestured to the cupcakes. “Today is my birthday. I’m now a legal adult and we don’t have to hide anymore. Cami doesn’t have to pretend to like you.”

Grant wanted to shake his head, like Petey would shake water out of his ears. His mind flashed to Mongoose telling him to get Cami out of town. Why hadn’t he listened?

“We’d like you to be our guest for a while,” Kyle continued. “Your room is in the basement.” He cocked his head right, and Grant saw the basement door ajar. He remembered Cami’s pride as she showed him the studio she’d created down there. He also remembered a door to the outside. Part of its charm, she’d said. You could enter the studio without going through the house.

“You want me to go into the basement?” Grant asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“And leave you here with a knife on her?”

“Yes, sir.” Kyle’s eyes never left Grant’s. They never even blinked, a fact Grant noted with one part of his brain, while another part tried to look past Kyle to the back porch. That door was closed.

Oh God, what should I do? Grant’s soul breathed the prayer as his mind continued to search for possibilities. Was there a phone downstairs? No. Windows? Yes. He remembered Cami’s comment she needed natural light for her work and it was unusual for a basement to have as much as hers did.

Grant’s eyes locked with Cami’s. He spoke to Kyle with deliberation.

“Why do you need a knife if she’s in love with you?”

“You’ve been confusing her.” Kyle’s voice rose and Grant could hear frustration in it.

“Okay son, take it easy. I’ll go downstairs.” Grant took a half-shuffle backwards. Enough, he hoped, to convince Kyle he would obey. “But not while you’re pressing a knife to her neck. Come on, I can’t leave you here like that.”

Kyle’s mouth twisted and his gaze changed to an assessing look into Grant’s eyes.

“Walk over to the stairs, stand at the top. I’ll step away, and you go on down.”

Grant glanced around for something he could bring with him, anything that might be a weapon. He swung his arms a little as he walked toward the door leading to the basement, trying to look casual and at ease. But this wasn’t going to have a happy ending. Not with an infatuated, delusional, knife-wielding teenager.

“Thanks for your hospitality.” He decided to play along for a minute, to see exactly what the kid had in mind. “How long am I staying? I appreciate your generosity but I have a therapy appointment later. And the team will be expecting me at tomorrow’s game.”

“How long you stay is up to Cami.”

“Why is that?”

“She insists on continuing the charade that she’s scared of me. As soon as she admits we’re in love, we’ll come out of hiding, and you’ll be free to move on.”

Grant focused on Cami, whose eyes widened at Kyle’s words. He tried to pour his heart into his own eyes as their gazes locked. Did she know he loved her? Don’t give up hope.

Inspiration flickered as he approached the open basement door. “Okay, I’m about to go downstairs. You can set down the knife.”

Kyle looked at him. Apparently satisfied by Grant’s surrender, he dropped his arm and the knife to his side. “Go.”

Grant took the first step, then stumbled, grabbing the handrail with his good arm as he clattered down the top three steps, making as much noise as he could before lying still.

“Grant! Are you- ” Cami’s voice strangled off in mid-question.

“I think I sprained my ankle.” He heard no movement, nothing except for Petey’s snuffling whine from above. “Can I crawl up the stairs?” he called.

Silence.

Then Kyle’s voice: “Come back slow.”

Holding his bad arm close to his chest, putting his weight on his good arm and his knees, he crawled up the steps back to the kitchen. He sat on the floor in the open doorway, catching his breath in between pretended grimaces of pain.

“I need a doctor.”

“Not a chance.”

Kyle’s knuckles whitened as his grip tightened on the knife and he swung it up to point at Grant.

“If I don’t get it x-rayed and taped, it could be the end of my career.”

“Life’s a bummer, huh?”

“Please, Kyle. I know you’re not that callous.” Another idea flashed into his head. “Or at least ice. I need an icepack.” Anything to stay where he could see Cami.

“We have ice in the freezer,” Kyle answered. “There’s a plastic bag in the drawer next to the refrigerator. Fill it with ice and go downstairs.”

The fact Kyle knew his way around Cami’s kitchen filled Grant with nausea. Cami must have felt the same. She closed her eyes, as if to block out the vision of Kyle rummaging through her drawers.

Grant dragged himself off the floor and limped toward the refrigerator. He had to pass in front of the table where Cami sat so he put a hand on it to steady himself as he went by. Could she tell he wasn’t really hurt? Did she know he longed to touch her shoulder for reassurance? To feel her hair on the back of his hand?

Grant felt Kyle’s eyes on him as he fumbled through the drawer, searching for a plastic bag. Since the jock set-up hadn’t intimidated Kyle, maybe an injured kitten act would be the better approach. Grant might have a chance to surprise Kyle with a physical assault.

“Hurry up.” Kyle’s voice was impatient.

Grant scooped ice cubes into the plastic bag, running the seam between his fingers to seal it.

“I need a dish towel.”

“Next to the sink. Now get downstairs.”

Kyle’s jerky movements and tight voice meant it was time to go. Grant limped back to the doorway and shuffled slowly down the stairs, holding the improvised ice pack and making plenty of noise. At the bottom, he looked around.

Scattered glass shards answered how Kyle had gotten in. None were large enough for a weapon though. There must be something down here. Hope sparked when he saw Cami’s easel and paint supplies.

Cami involuntarily shrank from Kyle’s touch as he began to knead her shoulders after Grant disappeared down the basement stairs.

“You’re so tense. I thought you’d be happier to see me. And to get rid of him.”

“Grant’s been…” She couldn’t continue.

“I could tell you didn’t want to have anything to do with him. I’d watch the two of you together and you could hardly stand to have him touch you. That made me happy.”

Cami’s mind flashed to the few times Grant held her hand or put his arm around her. She’d been sensitive to his touch, reminded of Patrick’s rough grabs. But she hadn’t known Kyle was watching. Or what his skewed interpretation would be.

“Kyle-” About to explain things to him, she stopped. He would neither hear nor believe her protests. Grant had a plan, she could tell from the look he’d given her. She searched her memory for any potential weapons down there.

A knock from under the kitchen interrupted her thoughts.

“What now?” Kyle’s irritation was obvious in his voice.

“I need a doctor.”

Cami could just make out the words through the floorboards of the kitchen. It sounded as if Grant was at the end of a long tunnel. Or in the corner of the basement with her supplies. Yes, of course. Paints, thinner, solvents. Any of those could temporarily blind someone. Turpentine could burn a cornea. If Kyle went down to check on Grant… possibilities emerged.

Kyle picked up the knife he had set on the counter behind him when he’d started to massage her shoulders and moved to the basement door. “What’s wrong?” he called.

“I must have hit a nail when I fell on the steps. I’m bleeding.” Grant’s voice sounded weak.

Go down, go down, go down. Cami inched forward in her chair, gripping the arms and praying.

Kyle glanced back at her, uncertainty plain in his expression. She forced herself to smile.

“We can’t leave him down there, bleeding all over my canvasses.” Aligning herself with Kyle by saying “we” seemed to reassure him. A sudden grin split his face and he turned to go down the stairs.

As soon as he was out of sight, she whirled around to grab a knife from the butcher-block rack on the counter behind her. Empty. An urge to scream followed by tears swept over her. Think, Camille. She could tell by the fading sound of his footsteps, he was almost to the bottom. She took hold of the knife block itself. A solid chunk of maple with slots for storing knives, it had been a house-warming gift from Meredith. She held it up, considering its possibilities as a blunt instrument. It weighed at least seven pounds. It would have to do.

Sounds of a scuffle and a scream of agony spurred her toward the open basement door. More noises and grunts followed, then someone hurried up the steps. Cami stood behind the door, the knife block high overhead.

Woe! It's Wednesday

 

So.

We live in the country. We have 2.3 acres. The closest neighbors are not very close.

When I bought a wireless router a year or so ago, I had a hard time setting it up and somewhere between the multiple tech support calls and restarts, the password never got set up so it's been unsecured.

But, as I said, we live in the sticks with no one nearby, so I figured we were safe from hackers and identity thieves. And we have been.

A few weeks ago, I noticed the 13 year-old neighbor kid spending a lot of time out by the mailboxes. He lives across the street from us and the boxes are side by side at the edge of their driveway, a good 75 feet from the road and over a hundred feet from our house.

Today, we learned that the kid has been using our wifi with his phone.

Husband laughed it off. I was a bit irritated. Hubby and I had a conversation.

Him: It's no different from you using a friend's wifi when we're visiting someone.

Me: It certainly is. I don't park in front of someone's house to use their wifi, I only use their network if they offer me the password.

Him: What about using free wifi at Starbucks? or a hotel? HMMM??

Me: Still not the same. At McDonalds or the 'bucks, or a hotel, it's part of the service I'm paying for.

We compromised. I'm unhooking the router for a day. Then, I'll set it up again with a password. I'll give the neighbor kid the password, but he has to come to me and ask for it. Nicely.

This seems like one of those sticky ethical dilemmas that we're experiencing, thanks to new technology.

What would you do?

Book Talk Tuesday

There hasn't been much talking about books, or much else, on this blog for a few months. I took a sabbatical from posting anything except Fiction Friday chapters of Curve Ball.

When I started Book Talk Tuesday, I thought I could talk about books forever. And I still think I can, but there are some restraints.

I do book reviews for a couple of web sites and they don't want the review published elsewhere; they want exclusive work. So, if I wanted to talk about something I reviewed, I had to write something new and different about it. That got old, because if I liked it or didn't, I had already said it.

But, I'm back and I'm just going to talk about what I've read recently or maybe a movie adaptation of a book, or an anecdote I've heard or a literary experience I've had.

My goal every year is to read 100 books. I've never made it past 80 and often I'm between 70 and 80.

So far in 2011, I've read 12 books, so I'm at a good pace to make the 100. But I invariably get snagged by something that doesn't grab me, something I have to slog through for a review, or I get busy and unable to read.

The busy-ness is only for a short time though. I truly have to read some fiction nearly every day or I start to go cray-zee.

Fiction soothes my psyche. Something about going to another world, even if for a short time, restores me.

What do you have to do regularly that restores you?

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Today, I'm praying for: Bernie, Lisa, and Gina.

Currently reading: The Confession by John Grisham - say what you will about him as a writer, the man can tell a great story.

Last movie: Country Strong - I'm a bit upset that no one told me it's a downer. It was good, but I wish I'd known not everyone gets their happily ever after.

Technorati Tags: Movies,book Talk Tuesday

Fiction Friday

When I first wrote Curve Ball I intended it to be a six book series about the women in Cami's businesswomen support group. Kennie is fully formed in my head but I haven't written her story yet.

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Technorati Tags: Fiction Friday,Curve Ball

Chapter Thirty-Three

Thud! Cami jumped as a knock sounded at her car window. Only a minute had passed since Tara and Anthony left, but her life had spiraled out of control like a wild pitch at a Coyote game.

Kennie stood outside the car. “What are you doing here? Are you okay?”

Cami opened the door and tried to smile. “I don’t think so.”

“Come inside and tell me all about it.”

Ten minutes later Kennie kicked off her heels and tucked her feet next to her on the plush couch in the office. “Sit. And spill.”

Cami perched on the cushion edge but immediately stood up. “I can’t sit.” Her hands shook as she hugged herself.

“What happened out there?” Kennie asked. “You’re scaring me.”

Cami paced in front of her friend as she told the story, all of it. Grant and Mongoose knowing Kyle was stalking her. Her denial. And the scene just now in the parking garage.

“Are you going to leave town?” Kennie asked.

“Would it solve anything?”

“I remember enough Psych 101 to know stalkers don’t give up. Not until their love is dead or they fall for someone else.”

“But surely Kyle’s not that bad.” Even as she said the words, the sight of the dead sparrow and Petey’s convulsive heaving flashed through her mind and she fought an urge to throw something, anything.

Kennie watched.
Cami glanced away. The words of the song she’d listened to earlier echoed in her mind. No power of hell, no scheme of man, will ever pluck me from His hand. She’d been saying for a long time she trusted God. Now it was time to prove it. She’d be careful, but she wasn’t leaving town.

“I love the demo. Sign that group.” She dug around in her purse, pulled out her cell phone and punched in Grant’s number. It rang several times until his voice mail picked up.

“Hi, it’s me,” Cami said. Her voice cracked and she had to pause a moment. “You’re right, it is Kyle. I’m sorry for not… believing… no, for not trusting… Anyway, call me. I’ve got to stop by home then I’ll be at Paige’s later.” She disconnected and sat still, pondering her next move.

“That must have been hard.” Kennie interrupted Cami’s thoughts. “You hate admitting you’re wrong.”

“I’ve always thought everyone is granted a certain amount of confidence in our lifetime. And some people, like you and Paige, never run out. I have to hoard mine.”

“Honey, Paige and I are as self-doubting as you are. We’ve just learned to hide it better.”

“Then I’ll work on hiding it, too,” Cami said. “I’m an artist after all, creating illusions.” She stood. “I have to go. Thanks for the talk.”

“Will you be okay?”

“Yes.” She would be better than okay.

“Call me later.” Kennie walked her to the door.

Cami waved goodbye and punched another number into her cell phone as she hurried back to the parking garage.

“Hi. This is Camille Henderson. I need to talk to you. Is now a good time?”

Cami climbed out of the Tahoe and hurried up the front steps of the church. Pastor Mike stood inside the office, giving a list of instructions to his secretary, who nodded while taking notes, her pencil flying across the page in rhythm with Pastor Mike’s words.

“Come on in, Cami,” Pastor Mike said. “I’m finishing up with Nora here.”

Nora flashed a relieved smile. “Thanks for rescuing me.”

“Rescuing you?” Cami asked.

“Pastor Mike gets these moods where he bursts in like a cyclone, issues contradictory instructions, and whirls out again, leaving me to deal with the chaos in his wake. He only had time to get up to about a force three today, so I thank you.”

“You better be careful, Nora. Insubordination will get you fired.” His grin belied the words.

Her eyes looked at the ceiling. “Without me, you and the whole elder board would still be looking for the hymnals that were in plain sight on the pews.”

Pastor Mike herded Cami down the hall to his office. “The sad thing is, she’s right. I get stressed with all the details that have to be done, dump them on her and I feel better, but then she’s frazzled. Anyway, please sit down.”

He waved a hand toward the two easy chairs in the corner across from his desk. He left the door open, but must have noticed Cami’s anxious glance toward it.

“I make it a policy to never counsel women behind closed doors. Nora won’t come down the hall while we’re talking and she’ll keep others away too, so you can speak freely.”

Now that she was here, indecision gripped her. How much should she share? She paused for a breath. “I’m having some problems with -- ” She paused, not sure how to proceed. “No, I better back up.” She recounted a few of the incidents from the last few months, finishing with the attack on Petey and the dead sparrow in the mail.

“I’ve met with a psychological specialist. He and a few other people are convinced the stalker is Kyle Shaw. I didn’t want to see it but this morning I was followed by two of Kyle’s friends who said they were keeping an eye on me at his suggestion.”

“This is very serious, what you’re saying. Are you completely sure?”

“Yes. I came to you first since Janis and Kyle are members here. I don’t want to go through legal channels, with a restraining order and all. I want my life back. I also know how crazy this sounds and I’m concerned…about people’s reactions.” There, she’d said it.

“I believe you.” He touched her hand.

Cami hadn’t realized how worried she was about being casually dismissed as a paranoid attention-seeker until Pastor Mike’s compassionate brown eyes fixed on hers.

“Thank you.” She gulped down a sudden lump in her throat.

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I came to you.”

“What are your options?”

“Umm… I guess… talk to Kyle. And Janis. Go to the police. Move away.”

“I hear Fresno has affordable housing. And it’s a dry heat.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“Which of those options are you most comfortable with?”

“I just want him to stop stalking me. I would hate to paint Kyle with anything that will follow him forever so I really don’t want to involve the police. If I could be sure he’d get the help he needs, I’d talk to his mother and let it drop.”

“What about a combination of those?”

“What do you mean?”

“Approach Janis. I’ll pass on your concerns to the leadership here. And contact the police. For a record, in case you need proof of something in the future.”

Cami wasn’t sure she’d heard right. “You mean it would be okay to go to the police?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I sort of expected you to tell me to leave it all in God’s hands. He’d take care of me.”

“Well, I’ve never been much for the ‘go, be warm and filled’ kind of pastoring. I’m from the ‘I believe, help my unbelief,’ camp.”

Cami’s pent up breath escaped. “It doesn’t mean I’m not trusting God enough if I talk to the police? Is that what you’re saying?”

“It is.”

“Well.” She couldn’t think of anything to say. Emotions roiled inside. Relief mixed with joy bubbled to the top. Her bathtub thoughts had convinced her but to have her conclusions affirmed by Pastor Mike buoyed her heart even more. “Thank you.” In spite of the serious conversation, she couldn’t help the grin spreading across her face. “Thank you so much.”

He nodded an acknowledgement. “What would you like me to do?”

“Build a barricade between me and Janis?”

He smiled. “I’ll be glad to be at any meeting you set up.”

She gathered her thoughts and tried to put them in order. “I guess tell the elders and staff here. I’ll contact the Victim’s Advocate number the police gave me when my Tahoe was vandalized. And I’ll make an appointment with Janis as soon as possible.”

“Good plan. I’m proud of you.”

They said goodbye and Cami walked back to the front office. Nora was on the phone as Cami passed her desk.

“Yes, Pastor Mike,” she said, shaking her head in mock frustration as Cami passed. “I ordered three cases of the new paper you want to start using for bulletins and-” The heavy glass door swung shut, silencing Nora’s voice.

Ten minutes after leaving the church, Cami pulled into her driveway. She wanted to walk through her own doors, drink from her own glasses, and relax on her own couch. She was tired of being a guest in someone else’s home. Neither Paige nor Grant thought of her as an intrusion, but she couldn’t help feeling that way about herself. Self-sufficient for so long, she had become a bit set in her ways.

Like an old maid. Paige’s singsong echoed in her head. Or an eccentric hermit painter. Well, she was a painter. She did like to be alone. And if that came with an eccentric label, well, there were worse things. So she’d do some chores, call Janis, and spend a few minutes enjoying her peaceful home. Then head back up the freeway to Paige’s and a return to reality.

Opening the front door, Cami felt the inhale as the house took a deep breath of fresh air. Gathering up the bills and flyers that had fallen from the mail slot, she felt rather than heard something and her nerves stood at attention.

Grant walked into the training room at the stadium. A few other players on the Disabled List were already there. Grant grinned at the assortment of grimaces, scowls, and other facial contortions. Staying in shape was hard, getting in shape was downright miserable.

After changing, he joined the others and began lifting weights. The strength creeping back into his shoulder encouraged him. He was lucky he’d kept fit, it made coming back after an injury easier.

His mind drifted back to his early morning conversation with Cami, then her cryptic message on his mobile phone. He’d tried to call her back, but had gotten her voice mail. All these communication devices were supposed to make it easy to stay in touch. If they got a signal and were fully charged.

Anyway, he moved to his surrender last night, the crossroads where he chose his path. The certainty still anchored his heart. He just hadn’t known how to tell Cami about it.

“Andrews, phone call.” The clubbie stuck his head through the door.

Grant untangled himself from the apparatus, picked up the receiver, and punched a flashing light.

“This is Grant Andrews.” He stilled, then listened. Banging the phone into its cradle, he turned and ran through the door into the locker room. He changed into street clothes and hurried out to his car, adjusting the sling as he went. Juggling car keys and a jacket, he slid into the driver’s seat and pulled out of the parking lot barely five minutes after answering the phone.

Fiction Friday: Curve Ball

Patrick is based on a couple of different men I know who can charm the money out of your wallet and make you thank them for taking it.

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Chapter Thirty-Two

“Camille, please let me talk to you.” With raised brows, his eyes beseeched her.

“I don’t want to see you, Patrick.” Remember what he did. And remember what he’s like, his charm and his smoothness.

“I need to say some things.” He held out his hands, pleading. “Please.”

“Why would I care about what you need?” Petey moved behind her.

“I’m sure you don’t. But I have to say them anyway.” Patrick glanced at the dog, who made a noise deep in his chest.

Cami wasn’t sure if it was a growl or a whimper but it gave her courage. “Say it.” The sooner she could get rid of him, the sooner she could call the police.

“I’m sorry.” He folded his arms and looked at her expectantly.

“Sorry for what?” The words came out high and tight. She cleared her throat. “Sorry for coming here? Sorry for following me the past month in that red car? Or sorry for raping me?”

“Well - ” He looked at the ground before meeting her gaze. “I said I’m sorry, now it’s your turn. And I haven’t really been following you, just trying to pick the right time to talk to you. You’re always with someone, you know?”

“So it’s been you? Behind me everywhere I go for the last month?” She took deep breaths, trying to hang on. She would not fall apart in front of him.

He shrugged. “To talk to you alone, first I had to find you alone. You didn’t make it easy.”

“Everything’s always my fault, isn’t it, Patrick?”

He looked at her, a quizzical grin twisting his mouth. “Not everything.”

“When did you get out of prison?” Maybe he’d leave if she reminded him of what he’d done.

“Three months ago.” He looked past her and into the yard. “Nice place.”

She froze. “What do you want?” The familiar panic rose in her chest and she glanced around, looking for a neighbor. There were three women and some kids in the park across the street. The mothers stood near the monkey bars as their children raced through the swings and around the slides. Cami pulled on Petey’s leash to bring him in front of her.

Patrick continued. “I’ve been in therapy and learning about repentance and making amends and– well, I want to tell you something.”

“What?” Her hands tightened into fists. She could hit him if she had to.

“I forgive you.” He raised his eyebrows, as if waiting for something.

Heat rushed to her face. “You forgive me? For what?” Petey tried to get behind her again but she snapped the leash tight, forcing the dog to stand on her toes.

He shrugged one shoulder. “For ruining my life. For telling people I raped you when you wore that outfit that said you wanted it too. And for the hit-and-run rap.”

Suddenly she was back in that beer-reeking bedroom, fighting her nausea and trying to deny what she knew was happening. “I – You – it was a skirt! Not even a short skirt, just a - ” A darling yellow skirt with swirls of purple and blue. A brand new skirt she’d thrown away the next day.

The blond curl on his forehead fell into his eyes and he brushed it back. “I wanted you to know that I’ve moved on. No hard feelings.”

“You slimy piece of human debris.” She spoke between clenched teeth. Petey looked up at her, alarm in his eyes.

“What are you talking about? Didn’t I just forgive you?”

“Yeah, I guess you did. But how about what you did to me?” Her voice rose. “How about the constant verbal abuse you heaped on me? How about raping me and saying I forced you to do it?” In her peripheral vision, she saw the mothers turn toward them.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No!” The anger and hurt and resentment of the last two years spilled out in that one word. “You hurt me! You owe me and I’m the one who should be forgiving you!” The hair along the ridge of Petey’s spine stood up and he growled for real this time, low and menacing. It fueled her rage. “You stole my innocence and I hate you for that. You’re slime and you have the nerve to say you forgive me? You forgive me?” Her hands shook with rage, jangling Petey’s leash and collar tags.

Patrick’s lips pursed. “Whatever, Cami. I wanted to tell you that I’ve moved on and there are no hard feelings. See you around.”

He turned and crossed the street.

Cami watched his back and started after him. “Wait a minute, you don’t get to leave. Not until you’ve - ” She stopped. What did she want from him? An apology wouldn’t give her back her virtue. And any words he might say would be worthless.

Patrick gave a half wave as he drove away while she was still in the middle of the street. She stamped her foot and cried out, “You jerk!” The mothers at the park began gathering up their belongings and calling their children to come closer.

Petey stood next to her, his tail wagging a little. “You’re a good dog,” she said, reaching down to pat his head. She drew a shaky breath. She’d done it. She talked to the man who raped her and survived.

But she had to get out of here. Tears filled her eyes and she hurried to get in the house before dissolving out in public. Her hands shook so hard she could barely fit the key into the lock. Once inside, she ran up the stairs, peeling off her clothes and tripping over them in her hurry to turn on the water in the bathtub.

Half an hour later the sobs had slowed to ragged gasps every minute or so. The water was chilly, yet still she sat, knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs.

Patrick forgave her? She ruined his life? Just like the demo cd earlier, the scene was on an endless repeating cycle. Patrick brushing the hair out of his eyes as he told her he’d moved on. The dryness spreading across her tongue until it stuck to the roof of her mouth. How could he?

The words of the song’s final verse floated on top of the cold water. She turned on the hot tap to drown them out.

If there was no guilt in life or fear in death, then why did Patrick and this stalker get to her? Where was the power of Christ, helping her to stand firm?

Before seeing Patrick, she’d been sure she was okay. She trusted God and placed her hope in Jesus. She really did.

Another thought floated in. Why did she drive that massive hulk that took up two parking spots? And why did she hide behind alarms at home? A convoy of SUVs and all the security alarms and Secret Service agents in the world wouldn’t have kept her safe from Patrick. She’d gone into that bedroom. No one dragged her.

She shivered and begged the hot water to warm her.

Like an extra lock on the door, driving the Tahoe was not absolutely necessary, but the peace of mind was priceless. An SUV was helping God to keep her safe.

But did He need her help? She thought back to Pastor Mike’s Sunday morning sermon on Job. God asked Job some questions. Now she applied them to herself. Had she ever counted the grains of sand on a beach? Had she helped set the stars in the sky or tie the cords of Orion’s belt? Had she been there when He laid the foundation for the Earth?

Ummm… no. She closed her eyes in embarrassment at the image of herself telling God, “a little more to the right,” on the day he put the moon in its orbit.

Her eyes snapped open. When she had trusted God alone and hadn’t helped Him, she’d been betrayed.

Now the truth was out. She was angry with God for what she saw as His failure to keep her safe that night with a drunken Patrick. She had tried to fight him off. She yelled, but he covered her mouth before covering her body. He took every defense from her until all she could do was stop thinking and disconnect. And where had God been that night? Not fighting Patrick for her, that’s for sure.

The song said no power of hell, no scheme of man could ever pluck her from His hand.

What about Patrick’s power? He had physically overwhelmed her.

And how about the schemes of her unknown stalker? Another Bible passage came to mind: Romans 8:28. And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose. Her soul cried out, what possible good could come out of a sexual assault?

Well, one result of the incident was her super-vigilance for the safety of her students. She never let a young person leave with someone other than their designated carpool driver. She insisted on groups of three for projects and field trips, never letting kids pair off. Had she prevented something traumatic from happening to someone else? If so, was her trauma worth it?

And what about the definition of “good.” Something good for her should make her happy, shouldn’t it? Wait, Pastor Mike once used an illustration with …pancakes? Something about the ingredients, eggs, flour, and vegetable oil were all gross to eat alone, but stir them together and you get… waffles! That was it, not pancakes. Could the rape have been the spiritual equivalent of waffles? The rape hadn’t been good, but God had used it to give her a tender heart and compassionate spirit.

A memory from high school bubbled up: A girl…what was her name? Jenny? Ginny? A girl who did wear mini skirts and flirted with all the guys. There had been a rumor about her in their junior year, that she’d been raped. Cami flushed with embarrassment at the memory. She’d thought Jenny asked for it. She’d even said it out loud to friends.

Oh God. She leaned back and ducked her head under the water. She’d never be able to wash away the shame of her harsh attitude back then. She sat back up. “Forgive me, Father.” Her voice echoed against the white tiles. She was changed because of her own experiences. From a judgmental and self-righteous snot into … into what? Hopefully into someone who truly did have compassion and kindness.

Other scenes flashed across the screen behind her eyes. Yelling at Paige, “Leave me alone! You can’t understand what I’m feeling so there’s nothing you can do.” How prideful that sounded now. She’d made her own needs and hurts more important than anyone’s.

Her final words to Patrick echoed: I’m the one who should be forgiving you.

The dripping faucet slowed along with her breathing. She should forgive him. She knew it. But could she? God, I don’t know how to forgive him. Tell me. The silence stretched.

She heard the refrigerator cycle on down below. Petey chased something in his dreams, his paws rubbing on the throw rug next to the tub.

She lifted her head and examined the cracked tile above the corner of the tub. She really needed to get that fixed before water and moisture damaged the studs or sheetrock.

She reached out with a toe to open the drain. Gravity pulled the water out and the weight of it all pressed her down. Maybe she should give up. The burdens were so heavy and she was so tired.

Minutes passed as water drained. If it wasn’t so cold sitting here wet, she’d stay in this porcelain cocoon. Then a shiver blew over her. Bad idea.

The sucking sound of the last of the water draining prodded her. She had to move, get out, get warm again. Standing took all the strength she could summon.

But once up it was easier to get out of the tub. Then a little easier to grab a towel. Maybe some of the past went down the drain along with the water.

The burden on her shoulders lightened. A little. She could feel it there, but it was definitely not as weighty. After two years carrying anger and betrayal, its presence had been so familiar and comfortable. Who would she be without the anger and bitterness? Without the fear? Could she be a forgiver? Not by herself.

She dressed in khakis and a yellow blouse, her usual job-bidding outfit. She surveyed herself in the mirror. Being new on the inside meant she should look different on the outside, too. She pawed through her closet, getting to the things in the back. Things she hadn’t worn in years. Two years, to be exact.

There it was. A simple polo shirt in a delicate mint shade. She always felt pretty in that top. She’d quit wearing it because Patrick didn’t like it. She slipped off the yellow blouse and pulled the green one over her head. After a glance in the mirror, she nodded once.

She watered the African violets on her windowsill and fed Petey who would stay home. Since it had been Patrick following her to talk, home was safe now.

She opened the Tahoe and got in without making her usual walk around to check behind the back seats and then pointed it north. As she merged onto the freeway, the cd played that song again. This time, she sang along.

Five miles down the road Cami realized she had slowed below the speed limit while still in the fast lane. Drivers glared as they passed her on the right.

"Sorry, sorry," she muttered as she glanced over her shoulder and changed lanes.

Wait a minute. That white 4x4 pickup had been back at the Huntington Beach parking lot. She remembered thinking that white must be the new black, every third vehicle in the lot had been white. And the license plate, 4WHT 89, echoed that idea.

Well, the pickup's driver could have been at the beach for an early morning jog, as she had been. And was now on his way to work.

Without signaling, she left I-5 and took the frontage road. A glance in her rearview mirror showed only a blue Corolla. Maybe she was paranoid.

Or maybe not. A white pickup exited the freeway just ahead and was now in front of her.

With tinted windows shielding the driver, she saw only two silhouettes, but couldn’t guess at gender, size, or hair color.

She slowed to stay behind the truck. Not sure the driver was aware of her presence, she decided to turn the tables and follow it for a while.

The vehicle proceeded down Coast Drive, with three cars between them. They must be aware of her behind them. If they had been following her, that is. They would have seen her abrupt exit and done the same at the next off-ramp. The frontage road was in full view of the freeway, so even though the truck hadn’t been able to follow, they wouldn’t have lost sight of her.

She wanted to know if this pickup had really been following her. Or was it a coincidence? Enough with all the flukes in her life. She was tired of trying to find reasonable explanations. It was time for answers.

She gave the Tahoe a little gas and passed the first car in front. The pickup slowed and turned right into a McDonald’s. She still couldn’t see anyone inside. Passing the restaurant, she continued down Coast, one eye watching her rear view mirror.

Yep. The truck left the parking lot and was behind her again. She gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles.

“I don’t know what’s going on but I’m going to find out.” Cami signaled and made a careful right on Ocean Front. Wait a second. She was only blocks from Kennie’s office. In a building with an alley behind it and a three-story parking structure. A plan began to form. She slid her hand into the pocket of the door and found her pepper spray. Could she do it? Did she have the nerve to confront this sicko? She had to. Or she’d spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder.

She slowed a bit, allowing the truck to keep her in sight. Another right on Seaview Centre Drive. After waiting for a UPS driver to put his truck in gear and unblock the driveway, she turned left into the alley behind Kennie’s office. Without checking to make sure the 4x4 was behind her, she made another left into the parking lot. After pausing to grab a ticket from the automated dispenser she wanted to floor it but forced herself to drive slowly.

After a long twisting curve, Cami arrived at the top floor. She pulled into a spot, put the Tahoe in park while grabbing her pepper spray and opening the door, almost in one motion. She jumped out and ran back in the direction she’d come from, glancing around. Did she want witnesses or not? It didn’t matter, there was no time to wait for anyone to appear.

A vehicle approached, the engine downshifted as it started up the ramp. She ducked between two cars as the truck came into sight. It slowed; the driver must have seen her SUV. The pickup stopped behind her car, effectively blocking her in. If she’d still been inside. Being outside the car, knowing she could run if she wanted to, gave her confidence. She could do this.

The truck waited, engine idling. She still couldn’t see in. Breathing a prayer for nerve and safety, she strode to the truck and pounded her fist on the driver’s side window.

“Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?”

The door flung open, and Cami’s arms fell to her sides as the driver stepped out.

“Anthony?”

“Miss Henderson, I’m sorry, please don’t be mad.”

The passenger door opened as well and Tara joined them.

“We’re sorry, Miss Henderson. We didn’t mean to upset you.”

“What…” She couldn’t find her voice, couldn’t process coherent thoughts. Closing her eyes, she fought the queasiness swirling up inside. She drew a deep breath and forced herself to speak again.

“Why are you following me?”

“We were worried about you.”

“We thought something was wrong.” The explanations tumbled over each other.

“You’ve been acting so strange, we wanted to make sure you were okay.” Tara’s voice won. “We didn’t mean for you to see us. We thought…”

“What?” Cami’s breath came more evenly now.

“We thought we’d keep an eye on you, be around to help if you needed us. Pretty stupid, I guess,” Tara said.

“Why the sneaking around? You scared me to death. I thought someone was… Well, never mind. Why would you think you could follow without me seeing you?”

“They do it in movies all the time. But it’s a lot harder in real life.” Anthony sounded more like himself, a little irony in his voice.

“I appreciate your concern, but please don’t do this again. My heart can’t take it.” A little humor might diffuse the tension. “Not to mention my gas mileage and tire wear and tear.”

“We’re really sorry, Miss Henderson.” The pair moved back to the truck and climbed in. Anthony rolled his window down.

“Will you be at the art center this afternoon?” he called.

“Yes, I’ll see you there.” Cami raised her hand in farewell. Anthony began to roll his window up. Cami heard Tara’s voice just before the window cut off the sound.

“Geez, she is jumpy. Kyle was right.”

Cami banged on the door once more. Anthony looked at her, puzzlement etched on his face. He rolled down the window again.

“What’s wrong?”

“What was that you said, Tara? About Kyle?”

Tara shrugged. “He’s the one who mentioned how frazzled you seemed and suggested we all watch out for you. Maybe trade turns following, so we would know where you were if something happened.”

Cami felt the blood drain from her face and she gripped the edge of the truck door.

“Miss Henderson, are you okay?” Anthony made a move toward her.

She waved him off. “I’m fine, thanks. I think the stress caught up with me. You two go ahead, I’ll see you later.” She forced her feet to move though it felt like slogging through mud to return to her own car. She climbed in and after a moment the white truck pulled into an empty spot, backed out and left. Tires whined as Anthony retraced his path to the entrance.

Cami buried her face in her hands as the sobs shook her body.

Kyle. It was Kyle.