“Jealousy is one thing; breaking things and hurting people is something else,” Tom says. “I’m sorry you had to go through this. I thought he was angry with me.”
“I am fine,” I say again. “He did not hurt me. I knew he did not like me, so it was not as bad as it could have been.”
“Lou, you’re… amazing. I still think it was partly my fault.”
I do not understand this. Don did it. Tom did not tell Don to do it. How could it be Tom’s fault, even a little bit?
“If I had seen it coming, if I had handled Don better—”
“Don is a person, not a thing,” I say. “No one can completely control someone else and it is wrong to try.”
His face relaxes. “Lou, sometimes I think you are the wisest of all of us. All right. It wasn’t my fault. I’m still sorry you had to go through all that. And the trial, too—that’s not going to be easy for you. It’s hard on anyone involved in a trial.”
“Trial?Why do I need to be on trial?”
“You don’t, but you’ll have to be a witness at Don’s trial, I’m sure. Didn’t they tell you?”
“No.” I do not know what a witness at a trial does. I have never wanted to watch shows about trials on TV.
“Well, it won’t happen anytime soon, and we can talk about it. Right now—is there anything Lucia and I can do for you?”
“No. I am fine. I will come to fencing tomorrow.”
“I’m glad of that. I wouldn’t want you to stay away because you were afraid someone else in the group would start acting like Don.”
“I did not think that,” I say. It seems a silly thought, but then I wonder if the group needed a Don and someone else would have to step into that role. Still, if someone who is normal like Don can hide that kind of anger and violence, maybe all normal people have that potential. I do not think I have it.
“Good. If you have the slightest concern about it, though—about anyone—please let me know right away. Groups are funny. I’ve been in groups where when someone that everybody disliked left we immediately found someone else to dislike and they became the outcast.”
“So that is a pattern in groups?”
“It’s one pattern.” He sighs. “I hope it’s not in this group, and I’ll be watching for it. Somehow we missed the problem with Don.”
The buzzer goes off. Tom looks around, then at me. “I think it will be a policeman,” I say. “Mr. Stacy said someone would come to take my statement.”
“I’ll go on, then,” Tom says.
THE POLICEMAN, MR. STACY, SITS ON MY COUCH. HE is WEARING tan slacks and a checked shirt with short sleeves. His shoes are brown, with a pebbly surface. When he came in he looked around and I could tell that he was seeing everything. Danny looks at things the same way, assessing.
“I have the reports on the earlier vandalism, Mr. Arrendale,” he says. “So if you’ll just tell me about what happened this evening…” This is silly. He was there. He asked me at the time and I told him then, and he put things in his pocket set. I do not understand why he is here again.
“It is my day to go grocery shopping,” I say. “I always go grocery shopping at the same store because it is easier to find things in a store when someone has been there every week.”
“Do you go at the same time every week?” he asks.
“Yes. I go after work and before fixing supper.”
“And do you make a list?”
“Yes.” I think, Of course, but maybe Mr. Stacy doesn’t think everyone makes a list. “I threw the list away when I got home, though.” I wonder if he wants me to get it from the trash.
“That’s all right. I just wondered how predictable your movements were.”
“Predictable is good,” I say. I am beginning to sweat. “It is important to have routines.”
“Yes, of course,” he says. “But having routines makes it easier for someone who wants to hurt you to find you. Remember I warned you about that last week.”
I had not thought of it like that.
“But go on—I didn’t mean to interrupt you. Tell me everything.”
It feels strange to have someone listening so intently to such unimportant things as the order in which I buy groceries. But he said to tell him everything. I do not know what this has to do with the attack,