"I'm all right," she said, praying that her voice didn't betray her now. "I just… well, it's been a terrible week for me, and I guess I just came apart for a minute."
Her eyes held Chuck's as she silently pleaded with him to say no more. If he understood the look, he chose to ignore it.
"It's the strain of the last week," he said, his eyes meeting Blake's. "You know the situation-Jeff's in isolation and-" He stopped, his gaze shifting away from the Tanners. "Well," he finally went on, "I'm afraid Charlotte's begun imagining things." He moved across the room and took his wife's hand. "Come on, darling," he said quietly. "Let's go home and let you get some rest."
When they were gone, the house seemed oddly silent. It was Blake who finally spoke, after shaking his head sadly. "I've been working on it all week," he said. "Something just snapped in Jeff's head." He ran his tongue thoughtfully over his lower lip. "And I guess it's pretty obvious where the instability came from, isn't it?"
Sharon said nothing, for while ChuckLaConner had tried to explain what was happening to his wife, her eyes had remained on Charlotte.
And in Charlotte's eyes, she had read a clear message.
Don't believe him. Please…don't believe him.
Mark Tanner and Linda Harris were coming down out of the hills above Silverdale. They'd been hiking for an hour, and though Mark had taken his camera with him, so far he hadn't taken a single picture. Even when a large buck with antlers spread proudly above his head had emerged from a grove of aspens and instantly frozen in place, staring at them, Mark had made no move to capture the image.
"What's wrong with you?" Linda finally demanded, her voice sharp with exasperation. The buck, after nearly two minutes, had bounded away and disappeared,Chivas halfheartedly chasing it for a few yards before giving up and rejoining them as they started back toward town. "I thought you liked to take pictures of everything."
Mark shrugged laconically. "I did," he agreed. "But I don't know-lately it seems like taking pictures is just like everything else I used to do." He fell silent, trying to find the words to explain to Linda what was happening to him. ''Taking pictures is sort of like standing on the outside, looking in," he went on. "And I'm just tired of feeling like I'm left out of everything."
Linda glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. Ever since the night he'd gotten beaten up, he seemed different, but so far he hadn't been willing to talk about it. In fact, she'd hardly seen him all week; three times she'd had to go to cheerleading practice after school, and the other two days Mark had gone out to the sports center to keep his appointments with Dr. Ames. "You mean like sports?" she asked now, keeping her voice as casual as possible. To her surprise, Mark only nodded.
"I guess so," he admitted. "I mean, always before, I didn't really care about being so small, 'cause I didn't want to go out for anything anyway." He grinned at her then, and exaggeratedly flexed one of his arms. "But all of a sudden I'm starting to work out, and I'm putting on some weight. Watch!" He dropped to the ground and did fifty push-ups while Linda watched, astonished. He was barely even breathing hard when he was done. "What do you think of that?" he asked. "Three weeks ago I couldn't even have done ten."
"Big deal," Linda commented sourly. "So you can do push-ups. Who cares? JeffLaConner used to be able to do a hundred. And look what happened to him!"
"Aw, come on," Mark replied, suddenly deflated. He'd been so sure she'd be at least a little bit impressed. "Just because I'm trying to get in shape doesn't mean I'm going to turn into an asshole like Jeff!"
Linda glared at him. "He wasn't always an asshole, you know. When I first started going out with him, he was really nice. In fact," she added pointedly, "he was real nice till he turned into a sports nut!"
Mark felt his cheeks burn. "Well, I'm not going to do that," he protested. They were walking along the river now, theHarrises ' house only a block away. "And what's wrong with trying to be like everyone else?" he demanded. "Maybe I'm sick of not fitting in!"
Linda said nothing until they were a few yards from her house, then she turned to face him. "Look," she said. "I'm not mad at you or anything like that. I'm just worried about you, okay? And if you want to 'fit in'-whatever that means-I'm sure it's all right with me. But if you're going to turn into another JeffLaConner, you might as well tell me right now."
Mark stared at her, baffled. Turn into JeffLaConner? He wasn't anything like Jeff, and never would be. "But I'm not," he protested. "I'm still me, and I always will be."
They turned up the driveway of theHarrises ' house. From the apron in front of the garage, Robb waved to them. "Hey, Mark!" he called out. "Want to shoot some baskets?" He took aim and tossed the basketball in his hands expertly through the hoop. When his eyes met Mark's, Mark was certain he saw a challenge in Robb's look. For a split-second he hesitated. Then a grin spread across his face. "Sure," he called back. "Why not?" He sprinted down the driveway,Chivas trotting after him, and didn't notice the look of disappointment that came into Linda's eyes before she turned away and hurried into the house.
Ten minutes later Mark was beginning to breathe hard, but he was pleased that despite Robb's size and ability, he'd still managed to score three baskets. Now, dribbling the ball carefully and edging toward the basket, he searched for an opportunity to duck around Robb. He made his move, feinting left, then dodging around to the right, but just as he leaped toward the basket, he felt Robb's elbow dig sharply into his ribs. He grunted as a stab of pain shot through him and the ball went wild, bouncing off the backboard and dropping into Robb's hands. Robb immediately rose into a smooth lay-up, and the ball sailed through the hoop.
"Doesn't count," Mark yelled. "You fouled me!"
"Tough shit," Robb grinned. "You see a referee anywhere around?"
A flash of anger swept over Mark. "What the hell are you talking about?" he demanded. "A foul's a foul."
Robb shrugged. "I play to win," he said, idly flipping the ball through the hoop once more.
Mark stared at him. "There are rules to this game, you know."
The grin faded from Robb's lips, and his eyes hardened. "The only rule I know is the one about winning," he said. He dropped the ball and gave Mark a shove. Surprised by the sudden move, Mark staggered backward.
Robb shoved him again, and now Mark's back hit the garage door. "Come on," he said, "what's going on?"
"Chicken?" Robb asked. "Is the little boy mad 'cause he lost a point?"
Mark's jaw tightened, and before he truly realized what he was doing, his fist flashed out, catching Robb on the jaw. Robb's eyes widened slightly, then his lips twisted into a malicious smile.
"So you want to fight, huh?" he mocked. "Is the little boy finally growing up?"
He began throwing punches then, his jabs barely touching Mark as he taunted the smaller boy. Finally he moved in close, and Mark seized his opportunity. Clenching his right fist tight, he threw himself toward Robb, plunging his fist into the other boy's stomach. A burst of air erupted from Robb's lungs and he lurched back, clutching his stomach and struggling to recapture his breath. Just as he was about to strike out at Mark once more, the back door of the house opened and Elaine Harris rushed out.
"Stop it!" she demanded. "Stop it this instant!" Both boys, startled by the sharpness of her words, turned to face her. She glared angrily at Robb. "I don't want to hear any excuses at all," she declared. "You're nearly a foot taller than Mark and you outweigh him by fifty pounds. Now you get into the house, and when your father gets home, you can explain this to him!" She waited, her hands planted on her hips, and finally Robb, his head ducked low, hurried past her and disappeared inside. When Elaine spoke again, her voice was gentle and apologetic.