just call it a tragedy. I just call it a tragic, somewhat bizarre coincidence. I’ve seen a lot stranger. So had your dad.”
The front door opened. Mom stood in the doorway. “What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing, Carol. We were just talking.”
Carol looked at her daughter. “Jessica?”
Her eyes stayed on Paul’s, probing. “Just talking, Mom.”
Jessica turned away and stepped back inside. Paul Duncan watched her, letting loose a silent breath. He had suspected she would be a problem-Jessica never accepted easy solutions to anything in life, even when the answer was simple. Yep, he had hoped it wouldn’t happen, but he had definitely foreseen this possibility.
He just wasn’t sure what he should do about it.
Midnight.
At ten P.M. Christian Steele had crawled under the blanket, read for ten minutes, and then switched off the light. Since then he had lain on his back in the dark, staring at the ceiling, not moving, not fooling himself into even hoping that sleep was imminent.
“Kathy,” he said out loud.
His mind floated about aimlessly, settling like a butterfly for only brief moments before moving on. Darkness surrounded him, but not silence. There was no such thing as silence at football camp. Christian heard kegs being thrown, loud music, laughter, singing, swearing. He could distinctly hear Charles and Eddie, his offensive tackles, in the next room. They were permanently set on loud, like a radio turned up before the knob was ripped out. Christian was not above partying too, having fun by consuming alcohol until he hugged the porcelain god and puked up his offering. But not tonight.
God, not tonight.
“Kathy,” he said again.
Was it possible? After all this time…
So many things were happening at once. School was over. The Titans’ minicamp began the day after tomorrow. The scrutiny of the press had grown more intense than ever. He liked the attention, liked being on the cover of
Christian was excited. He was scared. He knew he had to think about the future. Myron had told him of the dangers and of how short-lived fame could be. Myron was, after all, a classic example. He had told Christian about the importance of cashing in now, that his career would at best last ten years. So much was at stake. So much. He was famous now, but there was a big difference between college famous and pro famous. Soon he’d have it all. Competition. Fame. Real money-not just the alumni secret handouts…
But so what?
“Kathy…”
His phone rang.
Christian shot up, his heart beating like a rabbit’s. Fast reflexes. Sometimes they played against you. It was only the phone. Probably Charles or Eddie telling him, hey, it’s party time! They’d both gotten drafted too. Charles had gone in the second round to Dallas. Eddie in the fifth to the Rams.
He picked up the phone. “Hello?”
No response.
“Hello?” he said again.
Nothing. But the phone had not been hung up. Someone was there, silently holding the receiver to their ear.
“Who is this?”
Nothing.
Christian hung up. He began to lie back down when the phone rang again. He picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
Silence again. Christian tried to listen more closely. Nothing. Or-or was that breathing? Panic seized him. He couldn’t say why. It was just a prankster calling on his unlisted phone. It might even be Charles or Eddie playing some kind of joke. Nothing to get upset about.
Except he was upset.
He cleared his throat. “What do you want?”
Still nothing.
“If you call back again, I’ll call the cops.”
He slammed the phone down. His hand shook. He was just about to try to settle back down when he remembered something.
Star. Six. Nine.
The phone company had sent something in the mail today. There had been advertisements on the TV-a pregnant woman trying to get to the ringing phone, trudging across the room toward the phone, but when she arrived the caller had already hung up. Then what? She picked up the phone and the voice-over-Cliff Robertson’s or someone like that-said something like “You just missed the call. Was it important? Was it someone you wanted to talk to? There is only one way to find out. Press the star and then six and nine.” They demonstrated it on the screen now, in case anyone wasn’t sure how to use a phone. Then the voice-over continued. “You’ll be connected to your previous caller, even if the number is busy. We’ll keep dialing for you, leaving your phone line free to make or receive other calls.”
The pregnant woman listened to a phone ring and then spoke to her relieved husband, who was working on some drafting board at work.
Christian picked up the phone. Then he hit the star, the six, and the nine.
The phone rang.
He rubbed his chin. A moment later a robotic operator came on. “The number is currently busy. We will ring you back when the line is free. Thank you.”
Christian replaced the receiver. He sat up and waited. The partying was still going on. He could hear three or four distinct partying areas. Someone shouted, “Yahooo!” A window crashed. People cheered. His larger teammates were playing keg toss, a sort of discus throw involving beer kegs.
The phone rang.
He snatched the receiver as if it were a loose ball on the turf. The phone was ringing back the number-just like the pregnant lady’s on the television. After the fourth ring the phone was picked up.
An answering machine.
A voice said, “Hi. We’re not in right now. Please leave a message at the beep, and we’ll be sure to call you back. Thanks.”
The phone slipped from Christian’s grip. A chilly hand caressed the back of his neck. A sound-some kind of choking noise-escaped his lips. Christian tried to form words but he couldn’t.
The answering machine. The voice.
It was Kathy.
Chapter 5
Myron staggered into his office, punch-drunk from lack of sleep. He had not even bothered climbing into bed the night before. He tried to read, but the words swam in front of his eyes in meaningless waves. He put on the television. Nick at Nite, the cultural equivalent of aerosol cheese. Back-to-back episodes of
But not even such highbrow entertainment could stop his mind from going back to one thought: Jess was back. And like Win had said, it was no coincidence.
