“Yes.” Tamar shook her head and placed a bright-red ceramic apple that had been a gift from a student in a box. “I’m sorry. I zoned out for a second.”
“You sure you’re okay?” Her friend clasped her shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. “Don’t feel pressured to go. If not tonight, we can always go out another evening. I’m sure I’ll have no problem thinking up a reason to celebrate.” She grinned, but worry still darkened her green eyes.
“No,” Tamar reassured her and summoned up a smile that wavered then fell away. “I—” She paused, hesitant about dumping her worries on her friend. But when Resa rubbed her back, she forged ahead. “I don’t know. Ever since that special interest ‘Where is She Now’ piece aired on the news a few weeks ago…” Tamar smoothed her fingertips over the top of the cardboard storage box. “I’ve felt antsy. Like someone’s been following me around.” Resa’s eyes widened and her lips parted. Immediately Tamar felt stupid. Really, who would be that fascinated in her to spend their time stalking her? She forced a laugh. “Forget it. It’s silly.”
“Tamar, are you sure? Maybe you should go to the police—”
“And say what?” Tamar flicked a hand in the air. “Never mind. With the rehashing of the plane crash, seeing the footage on television and reliving it…I’m probably overreacting and being oversensitive. Really. Forget it.” She smiled and tried to convince herself it didn’t appear as phony as it felt. “I want to go tonight. What time are we meeting?”
Uncertainty tightened Resa’s pretty features a moment before delight brightened her face and she shot her arm up in the air, palm out, waiting for Tamar’s high-five. After Tamar slapped her palm to Resa’s, the blonde beamed. “Cool! See you at seven?”
“I’ll be there,” Tamar promised. And as the other teacher bounded from the room and Tamar resumed her packing, a grim determination settled in her heart.
This was her life again. She had her freedom and friends back, had a wonderful career she loved and a future that gleamed bright and wide open. She refused to muddle it up with imaginary scenarios and paranoia.
She’d been granted a second chance and she would grab it by the tail.
Even if it bit her in the ass during the ride.
* * * * *
“See? I told you we would have a good time,” Resa boasted hours later as they left Paulo’s. She stumbled and Tamar grabbed her arm, bracing the inebriated teacher. Her left leg protested at the additional burden, but Tamar kept ahold of the blonde until she regained her footing.
“Oops!” Resa giggled, and then broke out in a surprisingly in-tune rendition of Look at Me, I’m Sandra Dee from Grease. Tamar bit back a smile. Her friend had taken the get-stinkin’-drunk-off-your-ass part of their celebration to heart, downing beers like they were on the endangered species list.
Good thing Resa was a happy drunk.
“Watch your step,” Tamar said, her tone as dry as the June night. Or her blood alcohol level. She and another teacher had stuck to a two-beer limit, had been designated the “sobriety crew” and assumed the responsibility of hauling Resa and the other two women who had joined them home. Since Resa lived in Tamar’s direction, she’d volunteered to pour the cheerful blonde into bed and carry her back to the restaurant in the morning to pick up her car.
As Resa neared the finish of her musical number, unease skipped down Tamar’s back. She’d walked this same stretch of sidewalk many times over the years and yet her gaze bounced around them as she guided her friend down the street. She couldn’t stop herself from glancing over her shoulder. Of course she glimpsed nothing but empty sidewalk. But this didn’t end the eerie sensation of being watched.
Long shadows stretched across the uneven cement, casting the night in a murky gloom reminiscent of a B-horror movie. She was only half-black but that part more than qualified her as a candidate for being killed off first by a machete-wielding maniac.
God, she hated the dark.
“I wanted to be on Broadway.” Resa slung her arm around Tamar’s waist and leaned her head on Tamar’s shoulder. “I was the star of the drama club during high school in Boston. My goal was to major in theatre in college, but my parents wouldn’t allow it.” Her voice dropped several octaves, imitating her parents Tamar assumed. “We have scholars in this family, not vaudeville entertainers.” Resa sighed and Tamar flinched, the alcohol fumes enough to knock out an elephant. Resa’s head became a heavier load as she slumped more of her weight on Tamar. Oblivious, the teacher continued her lament, her tone returning to its normal lighter notes. “So I majored in education and minored in theatre. But I still think about what if I’d followed my dream. What if I hadn’t let fear and my parents’ dictates hold me back?”