As soon as she was gone, he stripped his underwear off, tossed it into the corner with the rest of his dirty laundry, then pulled on his robe and headed for the bathroom. He was already in the shower, the bathroom was clouded with steam, when he heard the door open. "That you, Dad?" he yelled over the noise of the spray.
"Got to shave," Blake replied, then frowned uncertainly. "What are you doing in there? Didn't you shower last night?"
"Uh-huh," Mark replied. A minute later he shut off the needle spray and stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel off the rack. "Dad?"
Blake, his face covered with lather and his head tipped back as he drew the safety razor carefully over his neck, grunted a response and glanced at his son in the mirror.
"Do you suppose maybe we could start practicing football again? I mean on weekends or something."
The razor stopped inmidstroke as Blake's gaze fixed on Mark. "I thought you didn't want to do that," he remarked. But as Mark flushed scarlet, his father thought he understood. "Linda Harris, right? She's on the cheerleading squad, isn't she?"
Mark's flush deepened, and he nodded.
"How about tomorrow?" Blake asked. "Or maybe Sunday?"
Mark hesitated. For a moment Blake thought he was going to change his mind, but then the boy nodded briefly, pulled on his robe and left the bathroom. As he went back to his morning shave, Blake felt a sense of satisfaction. Silverdale, he decided, was going to be the best thing that had ever happened to his son.
Forty minutes later Linda Harris fell in beside Mark. They were three blocks from the school and still had plenty of time before the first bell would ring. "C-Can I talk to you about something?" Linda asked, stopping in the middle of the block and turning to face Mark.
Marie's heart sank. She'd already made up with JeffLaConner and was going to break their date.
"It-Well, it's about last night," Linda went on, and Mark knew he was right.
"It's okay," he mumbled, his words barely audible. "If you want to go out with Jeff tonight, I don't care."
"But I don't," Linda protested, and Mark, who had been staring uncomfortably at the ground, finally looked at her. Though her eyes looked sort of worried, she was smiling at him. "I just wanted to tell you what happened, that's all." As they resumed walking slowly toward the school, she told him everything that had happened after she'd left the gym with Tiffany Welch the night before. "I was really scared of him," she said. "It just seemed like he went nuts."
"Did you tell your folks?" Mark asked.
Linda shook her head. "They think Jeff's the next thing to God," she said, her voice trembling. "Just because he's a big football player, they think I should be thrilled to death that he wanted to take me out.''
"Well, you went with him, didn't you?" Mark asked, doing his best not to let his voice betray him. "I mean, if you didn't like him, how come you went out with him?"
"But he was different," Linda insisted. "He always used to be real mellow. But now…" She shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, he's just changed, that's all. He gets mad for no reason at all."
Mark couldn't resist a slight dig. " 'Course, telling him you're breaking up with him isn't any reason for him to get upset, is it?" he asked.
Linda started to say something, then saw his grin. "All right, so last night maybe he had a reason," she admitted. "But that isn't what I'm worried about," she went on, her eyes growing serious.
"Then what is it?" Mark asked.
"I just-" Linda began, then faltered, wondering how to say it.
"You just what?" Mark pressed. "Come on, spit it out."
"It's you," Linda finally said, her eyes avoiding him. "When he finds out about tonight, I don't know what he might do."
Mark felt his face reddening, and tried to control it. "You mean he might try to pound me?" he asked.
Linda nodded, but said nothing.
"Well," Mark went on, feigning a bravado he wasn't feeling, "if he tries, I guess there isn't much I can do about it, is there? Maybe I could just roll over and play dead," he suggested. "Think he'd buy it?"
In spite of herself, Linda giggled. "He's not dumb, Mark." Then her giggle faded away. "Anyhow, if you want to change your mind about tonight, it's okay."
Mark shook his head. "What are we supposed to do, pretend we don't like each other just because of JeffLaConner?"
As they approached the school, Mark stopped walking. Parked in front was a sky-blue station wagon with the words rocky mountain high emblazoned on its sides. Someone Mark didn't recognize was behind the wheel, but JeffLaConner was getting out of the passenger side. Mark frowned. "What's that?" he asked.
Linda frowned. "Rocky Mountain High-it's the sports clinic," she said, "and that's one of their cars. Jeff must have been out there this morning." Glancing nervously at Mark, she added, "M-Maybe we ought to go around to the side door."
But it was already too late. JeffLaConner had seen them and, after saying something to the driver, was starting toward them. To their surprise, he was smiling. Despite Jeff's smile, however, Mark could sense Linda's tension as the big football player approached.
"Hi, Linda," Jeff said, and when she made no reply, his smile faded and was replaced by an embarrassed look. "I-Well, I wanted to apologize for last night."
Linda's lips tightened, but she still said nothing.
"I wasn't feeling very good," Jeff went on. "Anyway, I shouldn't have done what I did."
"No," Linda said stiffly. "You shouldn't have."
Jeff took a deep breath, but didn't argue with her. "Anyway," he went on, "after I got home I got worse, and finally I had to go see Dr. Ames."
Linda frowned uncertainly. "How come? What was wrong?''
Jeff shrugged. "I don't know. He gave me a shot and I spent the night at the clinic, but I'm fine now."
Mark had only been half listening, for he'd been preoccupied by the mark he'd noticed on Jeff's wrist. The skin was abraded and bright red. Now he asked: "What did they do? Tie you down?"
Jeff gazed at him curiously, and Mark nodded at the other boy's wrist. Still not sure what Mark meant, Jeff looked down. Seeing the red mark on his right wrist, he raised his other hand, and as his arm bent, the cuff of his sleeve moved up a couple of inches. His left wrist, too, was ringed with an angry red welt.
He stared at the marks blankly.
He hadn't the slightest idea where they might have come from.
Sharon Tanner collapsed the last of the packing boxes, added it to the immense pile next to the back door, then wiped her brow with the back of her hand. "You were right," she said, glancing at the clock over the sink. "Only eleven-thirty, and it's all done. And dear God," she added, dropping into the chair opposite Elaine Harris, "don't let me have to do this again for at least five years!" She took a sip of cold coffee from the mug in front of her, grimaced, spat the coffee back into the mug, then got up and emptied the mug into the sink.
"All it takes is organization," Elaine replied.
"And extra hands," Sharon told her. "Why don't you show me around the stores, then I'll treat you to lunch." She looked down at her jeans and sweatshirt and smiled ruefully. "But nowhere fancy. I just don't feel like changing."
Fifteen minutes later Sharon pulled her car into the nearly empty lot behind the Safeway store and shook her head in amazement. "Not like San Marcos. There, I'd be lucky to find a spot after cruising the lot for ten minutes."
"Here, everybody walks," Elaine reminded her.
"Great," Sharon groaned. "And how do you get everything home?"
"Ever heard of a shopping cart?" Elaine retorted. "You know, the little wire gizmos old ladies drag around? Well, prepare yourself to enter the world of old-ladydom!" She laughed out loud at the horrified expression on Sharon's face. "Don't worry. I felt like an idiot the first time I did it, but now I've gotten so I like it. Of course," she added, patting her ample thigh, "I ought to walk even more than I do, but I figure I should get full credit for making the effort. Come on."