Incandescent (5 page)

“Yes. Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere. I
need to sort through this mess,” Anna said, waving a hand at her
suitcases. “I have no idea if my computer is ruined or not. The
fire didn’t reach my room, but the heat did and the water from the
fire hoses soaked everything.”

“Poor kid. Did you lose everything?”

“Well, I have a lot of my clothes. I hope my
laptop works. The scanner cost me 2,000 bucks. Most of my cameras
and equipment are at the newspaper or in my car. I did lose my
Nikon. It was in the downstairs hall closet.”

“Hmmm. I bought some extra detergent and you
already know where the washer and dryer are. At least you can get
rid of some of the stink,” Gretchen suggested, wrinkling her nose
at the smell of scorched plastic and wet ash.

“Thanks. I appreciate this.”

“I’m the one who’s lucky. You could have gone
back to your dad’s, but you didn’t. At least I don’t have to look
for another roommate.”

“What happened to Tim?”

“Eh, what always happens? Someone else comes
along, looks better and laughs at his idiot jokes. Can’t compete
with that, can I? Honestly, I was getting tired of cleaning after
the lazy bum. The man could mess up the entire kitchen while making
a sandwich. And talk about stink! Funny how they all take baths
when you first meet and slap on aftershave. Soon as they hook you,
they forget what a toothbrush is, much less the shower.”

Gretchen gave Anna a quick hug, grabbed her
purse and opened the front door. “Remember what I said,” she
warned. “I had a creepy feeling. You stay inside, keep this door
locked and don’t let anyone else in.”

“Yes, Mom.”

Anna spent the afternoon laundering clothes
and although they smelled of smoke, they didn’t reek. She arranged
her meager belongings in the spare bedroom, hanging shirts and
pants and dresses in the tiny closet, and storing the rest of her
clothes in stacking crates. She planned to visit Peachys and browse
the used furniture store. For now, the plastic bins served her
needs.

She puttered around the apartment, tiny in
comparison to the house she shared with Lacey. It was the first
floor of an old, three-story house that had been converted into
apartments.

It wasn’t a grand Victorian with oak hardwood
paneling like Lacey’s home, but it had its charm. The front room
served as the living room, and two small bedrooms, a closet and a
bathroom flanked the short hallway, which led into the small,
eat-in kitchen. Although the house was a century old, the
renovation was recent and the kitchen contained modern units
purchased from a popular Danish furniture manufacturer. Gretchen’s
bedroom and the living room also contained the stylish modern
furniture, beloved by the masses thanks to its simplicity and
cheapness.

Anna’s room contained the ancient double bed
and nightstand Gretchen used as a teen, and pink, plastic crates
for storage. The room was too small, however, for it to be
sparse.

She sat on the sagging bed and pulled out her
cell phone. Flipping through her contacts, she searched for the
Martin’s phone number. After six rings, an automated answering
service picked up.

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Martin, this is Anna,” she
said. “I just wanted to check on you two and see how Lacey’s doing
today. If there’s been any change....” She hesitated. “Please give
me a call when you can and let me know if there’s anything you need
me to do. Like, water the plants, pick up the mail. Whatever you
need, just let me know. I’m happy to ….”

The recording ended, cutting her off in
mid-sentence. She stared at her cell phone, and then opened her
messenger application. She flipped through old messages, pausing to
read any from Lacey. On a whim, she composed a new message to her
friend.

“Miss u. Hurry up & wake up & get
better & get home. Luv u.”

The rest of the day, she cleaned the house.
She found a small table and a spare chair on the back porch, and
brought them into her room to set up a small office area.

She pulled her laptop and scanner from a
large cardboard box, brushing away stray grains of rice. She
snapped the battery back into the laptop, plugged it into an
outlet, and flipped the on switch. Seconds passed with no
electrical shortages, no worrisome wisps rising from the casing,
before the computer screen brightened. The operating system started
and all of the software icons loaded.

“Looks good so far,” she said aloud.

She did the same with the scanner, and after
connecting it to her laptop, put a magazine on the glass and
depressed the scan button. It hummed into action. Within a minute,
she viewed the digital image file. It worked. With a sigh of
relief, she leaned back in the chair.

“Now to hook up the Internet,” she
mumbled.

She’d been using her cell phone to keep up on
her personal email and text messages, but she’d ignored her
professional account since Gretchen didn’t have an Internet
connection.

Anna unplugged the dusty telephone cord from
the living room extension and snaked it into her room, and into the
back of her computer. As a freelancer for the Eaton Daily News, she
occasionally used the newspaper’s remote Internet connection
software on her laptop to login. She smirked as she heard the
telephone dialup “beep-boop-squawk” through the laptop’s tiny
speaker. Compared to high-speed Internet access, dialing into an
Internet system was archaic.

She opened a web browser and logged into her
work website. She scrutinized the inbox, ignoring the junk mail and
spam. One sender caught her eye: Phoebe Allen of Marshall
College.

Dear Ms. Johnson,

Renalda Ortiz, instructor of graphic art at
Marshall, requires unplanned surgery and two months of bed rest.
She recommended I contact you regarding her Wednesday evening
class. If you are interested in an adjunct position for the
upcoming semester, beginning August 28 and concluding December 14,
please contact me as soon as possible.

Best wishes,

Dr. Phoebe Allen,

Communications Department

Marshall College

The e-mail was dated Friday, August 18. Her
birthday. The night of the fire. Frantically, Anna went into the
living room and opened the telephone book, her fingers shaking as
she flipped through the pages, looking for the Marshall College
information desk number.

Back in her room, she dialed the number and
waited several seconds before she realized the telephone wasn’t
working. Confused, she stared at the handset until she remembered
that the phone line was in the back of her computer. She pulled her
cell phone from her handbag and used it instead.

“Dr. Phoebe Allen’s office, please,” she
spoke when the Marshall College switchboard operator answered.
Moments later a musical voice came on the line.

“Phoebe Allen. May I help you?”

“Dr. Allen? My name is Anna Johnson. You
contacted me last week regarding a teaching position at
Marshall.”

“Ms. Johnson? Ah, yes, Renalda’s class. Well,
when I didn’t hear from you I assumed you weren’t interested. I may
have someone else lined up.”

“I’m so sorry. My place caught fire and I was
unable to access my e-mail until now,” Anna replied anxiously.

“Oh. I hope everything is alright.”

“My best friend was critically injured. She’s
still in a coma.”

Silence. Anna waited breathlessly.

“I’m sorry. I heard about the fire and your
friend. I didn’t know you lived there also. Are you sure you’re up
to this?”

Anna closed her eyes, her lips moving in a
soundless prayer. “Yes, Dr. Allen. This may be exactly what I
need.”

“Alright; I have Renalda’s syllabus on my
desk. Can you stop by tomorrow? Renalda assures me you’re capable
of handling this class. She says you could teach it as well as she
does. Is this true?”

“Dr. Allen, I have a master’s degree in fine
arts, as well as teaching experience at the high school level. For
the past year, I’ve been an independent consultant, freelancing for
newspapers and ad companies. I’m proficient with most graphic art
programs, as well as web publishing software. I’m sure I can do the
job.”

“You sound confident. As long as you don’t
think your recent misfortune will get in the way ….”

Anna interrupted her. “It won’t. I promise.
I’m already established at a new place, and I’ve salvaged all of my
equipment. I’m ready to work.”

“Fine,” Dr. Allen said, as if making her
mind, “come by my office in the communications building tomorrow at
10 a.m. It’s 301, across the hall from the elevator.”

“Thank you, Dr. Allen. I’ll be there.”

As she hung up the telephone, Anna jumped
onto Gretchen’s bed and bounced, flinging her arms out. “Whoo hoo!”
She kicked out her feet, landing on her rear and bounced one last
time before rolling off, the satin comforter sliding with her and
cushioning the fall.

Chapter Eight

The next morning, Anna decided to take a walk
and burn off some of her nervous energy. Gretchen, exhausted from
another late-night date with Mark, was sound asleep. Anna couldn’t
wait to tell her friend the good news. She’d catch up with her
friend after the meeting with Dr. Allen.

She pulled on her baggy sweat pants and
borrowed one of Gretchen’s tank tops. The gray top had a built-in
bra that was too small for Anna. She decided to appreciate her
newfound cleavage. She tugged on a pair of sneakers and tied her
house key in her shoelace. After pulling her wavy brown hair into a
ponytail, she stopped at the refrigerator for a bottle of water.
She let herself out the front door, making sure it locked behind
her. She paused on the porch to stretch.

From his vantage point parked down the
street, Aaron Tahir watched as Anna bent at the waist and stretched
her hamstrings. He admired her lean, tall silhouette as she worked
through a series of stretches.

He kept vigil the night before, noting what
time Gretchen arrived and when she left later with her boyfriend.
Anna had stayed home, alone. He’d watched the solitary figure
through the windows as she moved through the house, locking doors
and switching off lights. She retired to her bedroom around 10
o’clock and turned off her lights at 11.

After waiting an hour, Aaron returned to his
motel room.

Back on watch by 7 o’clock in the morning, he
watched as Anna pulled her cell phone out of her sweatpants pocket,
fiddled with the screen, and inserted ear buds. She slipped the
phone back into her pocket, and hummed to the music as she started
her brisk morning walk.

Aaron started his motor and made a U-turn,
leaving a distance of several car lengths between them.

Anna didn’t hear the engine or notice the
truck keeping pace behind her. She raised a hand in greeting as she
passed an elderly woman waiting while her shaggy dog lifted its leg
on a hydrangea bush. The small poodle turned its rheumy eyes on
Anna, its stumpy tail wagging. Anna stopped to let it sniff her
hand before she scratched its ears.

“Good morning,” she said, nodding to the
woman.

Aaron kept the car idling, his foot on the
brake as he waited for Anna to continue walking, but instead she
ducked into a coffee shop. He pulled into a parking space, then
strolled through the cafe entrance.

Already at the counter, Anna plucked the buds
from her ears, letting them dangle from her waistband. Aaron could
hear the tinny, faraway sounds of a Bob Marley reggae tune.

Anna bent over and pulled off one of her
sneakers. “Could I have white chocolate mocha, please? And a lemon
poppy seed muffin.”

Balancing on one foot, she pulled a
ten-dollar bill from inside her sock to pay the clerk, beaming at
him all the while. The young man, too busy staring at her cleavage
as she bent over, didn’t notice the damp, crumpled bill. “Keep the
change,” she said, smiling.

On top of the world, Anna wondered if she
were betraying her best friend by enjoying the morning and looking
forward to a job interview.

She flinched when she recognized the deep
voice behind her say, “I’ll have the tall Caffé Americano.”

She turned to glare at the fire chief. Tall
and muscular, he towered over her in the coffee shop. He grinned at
Anna, his lips crooking to one side. Anna stared into the green
depths of his eyes.

“Morning Miss Johnson,” he said.

Anna lifted her chin defiantly. “Following
me, Marshal?”

Aaron didn’t respond. He paid the clerk,
stood aside, and read the morning edition of the Eaton Daily News.
He was just another customer.

Seconds later, he picked up the steaming cup
of coffee the clerk placed on the counter, then headed outside, the
newspaper tucked under his arm. He sat at a bistro table and once
again pretended to read. Minutes later, Anna came outside and sat
at a nearby table. Over the top of his newspaper, Aaron watched her
lick the whipped cream off the beverage, fascinated as her tongue
danced along her upper lip.

Anna sensed Aaron’s eyes caressing her and
for several heartbeats tried to ignore it. When her eyes darted to
his, he averted his gaze to read the newspaper.

She pulled out her cell phone and checked her
text messages, furtively glancing at Aaron. This morning, he wore a
black T-shirt and blue jeans. Black sunglasses were tucked in the
top pocket of his T-shirt.

Aaron glanced over the newspaper and caught
Anna studying him. He smirked, noting the blush that flooded her
fair skin.

Embarrassed, she stood and put the lid on her
chocolate. She tossed it and the uneaten muffin into the trash.
“For the record, I’m going home,” she said. “You can stop following
me now.”