War for the Oaks Read Free Page B

abandoned factory from four until midnight. Each night her imagination had tenanted the shadows with burglars and arsonists. At the end of a week the shadows were full, and she quit. She typed too slowly—did everything with her hands too slowly, in fact, except play the guitar.
    As for a normal love affair, it wasn't impossible. She was reasonably intelligent. She was attractive, though not beautiful: blond and grayeyed with strong features and clear skin; and she was small and slender and knew how to choose her clothes. But she wasn't sure where to find men who weren't—well, musicians.
    "Mighty quiet," Carla said, as if she already knew why.

    "I'm . . . I guess I'm beginning to realize the consequences of everything."
    "Mmm. You going to chicken out?"
    "No. But . . . would you call me tomorrow? Around two-ish? I figure I'll call Stu at one and tell him."
    "And you'll need someone to tell you you're gonna be okay."
    Eddi smiled sheepishly. "You must have done this yourself."
    "Everybody has to, at least once. Don't beat yourself over the head for it."
    The light was red at Washington and Hennepin, the corner where Carla would begin negotiating the rat's nest of one-way streets that led to Eddi's apartment. "Let me off here," she said suddenly.
    "Wha—why?"
    "I want to walk. It's a nice night."
    Carla was shocked. "It's freezing. And you'll get murdered."
    "You've been living around the lakes too long. You think any place with buildings more than three stories high is full of addicts."
    "And I'm right. Anyway, what about your axe and stuff?"
    It was true; she couldn't haul her guitar and amplifier fourteen blocks. She was settling back in the passenger seat when Carla spoke again.
    "I know, I know. 'Carla, would you mind taking them to your place and carrying them all the way up the back stairs, then carrying them back down tomorrow when you come over to keep me from being miserable 'cause I broke up with my boyfriend?' Sure, Ed, what're friends for?"
    Eddi giggled. "If you'd quit going to Mass, you'd make a great Jewish mother." She leaned over and hugged her.
    "Jeez, will you get out of here? The light's changed twice already!" After Eddi had bounced out and slammed the door, Carla shouted through the half-open window, "I'll call at two!"
    "Thank you!" Eddi yelled back, and waved as the station wagon rumbled and clanked away from the curb. The gold-and-gray flank of the library rose before her, and she followed it to the Nicollet Mall.
    Whatever had tugged at her in the restaurant parking lot refused to be summoned back now. Eddi shook her head and started down the mall, and hoped that the effort would blow her melancholy away. The rhythm of her steps reminded her of a dozen different songs at once,and she hummed one softly to herself. It was Kate Bush, she realized, "Cloudbusting," and she sang it as she walked.
    Then she saw the figure standing by the bus shelter across the street.
    By the shape, it was a man—a man's broad-brimmed hat and long, fitted coat. He didn't move, didn't seem even to turn his head to watch her, but she had a sudden wild understanding of the idea of a bullet with one's name on it. This figure had her name on him.
    You must be feeling mighty low, girl
, she scolded herself,
if you think that every poor idiot who's missed his bus is lying in wait for you
. Still, the man seemed naggingly
present
, and almost familiar. And three in the morning was an odd hour to wait for a bus in a town where the buses quit running at half past midnight.
    Her pace was steady as she crossed the empty street. Behind her, she heard his steps begin.
It's not fair
, she raged as she sped up.
I don't need this, not tonight
. She thought she heard a low laugh behind her, half the block away. Her stride lost some of its purpose and took on an edge of panic.
    South of the power company offices, Eddi turned and headed for Hennepin Avenue. If there were still people on any street in Minneapolis, they would be on Hennepin.