Blake, though still in the throes of sorting out the masses of detail his new job entailed, managed to come home by five-thirty or six every day, and he was never required to work on weekends. Indeed, the first time he tried to go to his office on a Saturday afternoon, he quickly discovered that working on weekends in Silverdale was impossible, for a security guard had stopped him just inside the front door, informing him that all the offices were locked up for the weekend. When he'd protested that he had work to do, the guard had shrugged impotently and suggested he call Jerry Harris. Jerry had laughed at him and told him to go home. "As far as I'm concerned," he said, "there isn't anything we're doing out here that can't wait until Monday. So enjoy your family while you can. The kids grow up too fast anyway."
That afternoon they'd gone to the high school football game, and the following weekend they'd driven down to Durango to watch the Wolverines play there. To Blake's surprise, Mark had actually shown some interest in the games, although at first he suspected that Mark's major interest was in Linda Harris rather than the game itself. Yet, every Sunday afternoon, it had been Mark who insisted on spending a couple of hours on the high school practice field, working once more on his place kicking.
For Sharon, the misgivings she'd felt in the Safeway the day they'd run into CharlotteLaConner had retreated to the back of her mind, and when she'd seen Charlotte at the football games-noting that despite Charlotte's words that day, Jeff was still quarterbacking the team-she decided that perhaps Elaine Harris had been right when she'd said that Charlotte had a tendency to overreact to things.
Now, on the second Thursday in October, Mark glanced at his watch, scraped the last mouthful of potatoes off his plate, and slid his chair back. "Got to go," he announced.
Kelly's face creased into a scowl. "How come I can't go to the pep rallies?" she demanded. "I go to the games, don't I?"
Mark grinned at his little sister. "You wouldn't like them," he told her. "It's a bunch of people jumping up and down and yelling all the time."
"Then how come you like them?" Kelly countered.
" 'Cause they're kind of fun," Mark admitted. "And besides," he added, "I'm taking pictures for the annual tonight."
Kelly cocked her head. "I bet Linda Harris is going to be in every one of them, isn't she?"
"Maybe," Mark said, a faint blush spreading over his face.
"Mark's got a girlfriend, Mark's got a girlfriend," Kelly chanted.
Mark rolled his eyes and turned his back on his sister. "We'regonna go out and get a hamburger after the rally," he told his mother. "What time do I have to be home?"
"Eleven," Sharon replied. Then, as Mark started toward the front door, she called after him, "And if you're going to be late, call!"
"I will," he called back. A moment later the door slammed behind him.
The pep rally was just beginning when Mark got to the school. As he came into the stadium, he saw Linda waving to him from the field. He smiled, waved back, then broke into an easy run. Until tonight he'd watched the pep rallies from the stands with the rest of the kids, but now he, too, would be on the field. Finding a spot on the bench, he opened his camera bag and quickly selected a zoom lens for his Nikon. He screwed on the flashgun, checked his film supply, then moved out to the field itself. By now he knew the routines by heart, and last week he'd decided which would be the best shots. By the time the band started to play the Silverdale alma mater and the drill team was marching onto the field, he was ready. He grinned to himself as he realized that he'd just proved Kelly wrong. Linda Harris wasn't on the drill team, so he'd have at least one picture that didn't include her.
The rally went on. Half an hour later Mark had shot three rolls of film and there was only one roll left in his gadget bag. He sat down on the bench next to Linda, and while the song leaders began dancing their routine to the major fight song, fumbled to get the last roll of film into the camera. By the time the song was over and Peter Nakamura had picked up a megaphone to introduce the team, Mark was ready. He took up a position next to the main gate, and as Peter called out the names of the boys on the team, their numbers, and the positions they played-and the players, in full uniform, trotted out onto the field-Mark resumed shooting pictures.
Some of the players paused for Mark, others waved to him as they trotted past. One or two ignored him completely, and Robb Harris, timing the action perfectly, flipped him the finger at the exact moment the flash went off.
Finally, after a long pause accompanied by a drum roll, Peter Nakamura called JeffLaConner's name. As the crowd of teenagers in the stands got to their feet and their cheering rose to a crescendo, Mark focused the zoom lens on Jeff, who was running in place a few yards away. As his name was called, Jeff turned, dropped low to the ground for a moment, then broke into a dead run. As he came abreast of Mark he turned his head, and as the flashgun went off, he was facing the camera squarely.
The look of pure hatred in his eyes almost made Mark drop his camera.
But then Jeff was gone, and as the Wolverines' star quarterback ran onto the field, his arms spread, his hands held high over his head, Mark decided he must have been wrong. After all, it had been a couple of weeks since Linda had broken up with Jeff, and despite Linda's fears, Jeff had been perfectly friendly toward both of them.
No, he was wrong, Mark decided. He had to be. Jeff had just been putting on a ferocious expression for the sake of the camera.
JeffLaConner stood at the end of the long row of football players, his hands clenched at his sides. Though the strains of the Silverdale fight song were filling the air, and the other members of the team were singing along with the crowd, Jeff was oblivious to all of it.
His eyes were fixed on Mark Tanner, who was now standing next to Linda Harris, whispering in her ear. The familiar anger, the anger that was getting harder and harder for him to keep under control, was building inside him again.
It had happened once during the week after he'd spent the night at Rocky Mountain High. He'd been on the practice field, and was playing well. He'd been working on his passes that day, taking the ball on the snap from Roy Kramer, fading back a few yards with a quick look to see if the wide receiver was keeping to his pattern, then hurling the ball with almost perfect accuracy toward the spot where Kent Taylor would be a few seconds later.
In eleven tries, they'd completed the pass eleven times.
On the twelfth try, as he'd scanned the field, he caught a glimpse of Linda Harris and Mark Tanner, both of them laughing, walking away from the school. The play had fallen apart, his pass falling short by a good ten yards. Instantly, Phil Collins had blown his whistle and stormed onto the field, demanding to know what had happened. Jeff said nothing, barely even hearing the coach's tirade, for a wave of pure fury was sweeping over him. His vision almost seemed to desert him, his focus telescoping to the point where all he could see was Mark and Linda.
They were laughing at him-he was as certain of it as he had ever been of anything in his life.
And then, as abruptly as it had come on, the anger had drained out of him. He'd stood still for a moment, his body suddenly tired, as if he'd just run a ten-mile race.
He could still see Linda and Mark. They had paused by the corner of the building and were looking toward him. When Mark raised his hand to wave, Jeff found himself waving back. For the rest of the session Jeff's concentration was shot, his mind totally occupied with trying to figure out what had happened. He wasn't mad at either Linda or Mark. Or, anyway, he didn't think he was.
From then until the past week, he hadn't had any problems with anger. But on Monday morning, then again at lunchtime on Tuesday, he'd lost control for a moment. And yesterday it had happened twice, and today he'd carefully avoided both Linda and Mark, afraid the sudden rage might come over him again and that this time he wouldn't be able to control it at all.