[24]

In a rush: of a sudden, the end of the week. Gasping from that. Yet also euphoric. Trying to be calm on the outside. I locked my office as I left Thursday night. Didn’t want Larry in there. But he could get in if he wanted. Anyone could.

The weather had turned a sour lukewarm with pockets of chill, unfamiliar for the season. Glittering gutters. Tinkling gurgle of water passing through shards of ice. Now we had flood warnings instead of sleet warnings. Flowers bloomed that should have waited until spring. I took my own car, telling my husband short-term parking was more convenient than him having to take me. Not that his grumbly offer had been convincing; I’d sprung conferences on him before, but it always unsettled him, and him being unsettled made our daughter grumpy. Even if most days she would’ve hardly known if I was home or not.

On the way to the airport, I had two stops to make. First, the gym. It wasn’t to work out. Just to check that the hummingbird was safe. Maybe that was me not thinking straight. Maybe it was me worrying too much. I guess I thought I’d get a few sets in, too, in my street clothes. Settle my nerves.

The box was there. The hummingbird was in the box.

The new thing was Charlie coming over to talk. Instinctively, I put my body in front of my locker so he couldn’t see the box.

“What’s up?” Thought I’d broken some gym rule.

“Someone followed you here,” Charlie said. “Two men—in a black SUV in the back of the parking lot.”

I laughed. That sounded ridiculous. Why did it sound ridiculous? A pinprick of alarm, but I didn’t know the source. The information or my reaction?

Then I took a look, frowned. No one in the parking lot. “I don’t see anyone.”

“No—last time. This time, who knows?”

“Are you serious?” Like Charlie was paranoid. Like some quirk of his past was surfacing. Me playing amateur psychologist to deflect.

“Think I’m talking to you for fun or something?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Somebody is onto you.”

“I haven’t done anything.” Blurted out.

He chuckled, like I’d told a joke. “You must’ve done something.”

“No one’s following me. No one’s there, Charlie.”

It came down to this: I wasn’t ready to believe some online searches had spilled over into the meat world.

Charlie looked at me like I was naïve, then shrugged. “Okay, then. No one’s following you.”

He went back to his chair, picked up the newspaper, gave it a stiff shake to straighten the page he was reading. Didn’t speak to me again. Wasn’t going to waste more time on a fool like me, said the economy of his body language.

In the end, I left the hummingbird in the locker. Because I’d extracted what I needed. Because I didn’t have time to do anything else with it.