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Geoff waits a beat, then says, in a faux-sweet tone, “But that’s the problem, don’t you see? Anna?”
“No, Geoff, I don’t. How is that the problem?”
He’s on his feet, shouting. “Because you’ve never done anything like this before!”
Then Mila, ever helpful, leans forward and says, “You never even applied for a grant to undertake this research, Anna.”
“Exactly!” Geoff says, turning around to look at her. “Unusual, right?”
I sit back and glare at them. “So, what you’re saying is, Istoleit.” I feel my cheeks burn.
They both laugh. “No! Of course we’re not saying that.” Geoff sits back down. “We’re just conveying what the Forrester Foundation said, which is—”
“Yes, all right. You’ve made your point. Repeatedly.” I get up, go to the door. “I’ll get you my notebooks first thing.”
They follow my lead. I’m holding the door open and they leave. The moment they’re out they’re whispering to each other. I slam the door. I can’t help myself.
I sit at my desk and start tidying up. I spray my computer screen and wipe it clean, organize paperclips by color, slide the corner of a tissue between the keys on the keyboard. I really should go home. I open the drawer and get my cell and glance at the staff directory. I can’t believe how foolish I was to leave the necklace here. For all I know Geoff and Mila will be rummaging through my things looking for some scrap of evidence that I really have stolen the proof. Won’t they wonder what it’s doing there? They won’t know its significance, but still, not exactly the world’s best hiding place.
Can they really take the prize away from me? That’s what they’re saying, isn’t it? That I have to prove my own proof? Now there’s a laugh. I shove the necklace in my bag, turn my cell back on, and it pings. Then it pings again. I have seven missed calls all from the soccer club.
Matti.
Thirty-Two
I’m running out the door, punching one arm in my jacket and hoisting my bag over my shoulder. I call Luis but he doesn’t pick up. I leave a message, the phone wedged in the crook of my neck.
“Is Matti with you? Can you call me, please? I was supposed to…” I drop the phone and it clatters on the floor. I pick it up, dropping my bag in the process. I scramble to gather my things together and run to my car.
I drive to the sports field on Bainbridge Road like a mad woman. I can’t stop thinking of my poor child, my baby, my Matti, who must be beside himself by now. I can picture him on the bench, wheezing through his panic attack. He has asthma and stressful situations make it worse. Did I pack his Ventolin? I can’t remember. He must be so upset and the thought is making my stomach roil as I speed through at least one red light and almost run over a cat. I keep redialing Luis but it goes to voicemail every time.
When I get there, I park the car in a non-parking zone and run straight to the coaches’ building. It’s locked.
I look around. I’m so late there’s no one here, no one clearing up after the kids, no lingering parents chatting, nobody. I try Luis again as I pull at my hair.
“Seriously, Luis, can you please call me? I’m getting really worried.”
Maybe he went home with one of the other parents. Except he never does that, it’s part of his anxiety. If Luis or I say we’re coming, he’ll wait. He just won’t get into a car with anyone else, no matter how well he knows them.
I call my home number with my heart thumping in my chest. Carla answers.
“Honey, is Matti home?” I have one hand over my eyes as I pray silently.
“Yeah,” she says, nonchalantly, and the relief that spreads through me makes my whole body wobble, like my bones are made of rubber.
“Oh thank god. Did Dad bring him home? Can I speak to him?”
“Dad’s not here.” I can hear her crunch through an apple. “When are you getting home?”
“So how did Matti get home?”
“Your friend brought him.”
“What friend?”
“Um…June, I think that’s her name.”
“June?”
