Chapter 12

At last Lucy Ballman and her family mustered strength to decide on a stroll through the Embarcadero to buy more fudge and look for a new flag pole topper. Afterwards they would check out quilts and cooking demonstrations in an adjacent Creative Arts building.

They made this decision as if it were a lighting bolt: magical, time-defining, imagistic, anachronistic, sudden, sure, elemental.

Lucy helped gather pacifiers and discarded napkins, keeping her head down, trying not to look both surprised and shocked at another sameness.

Every year. Every year. And as usual, the lightning bolt decision had been like pulling teeth.

What do you want to do?

I don't know. What do you want to do?

Well, I don't know. What do you want to do?

I want to scream.

I do.

I want to run away.

Lucy smiled at Elvis and followed his happy hops away from those dark windows. With a glance over her shoulder to ensure her mother hadn't forgotten her cell phone or sunglasses this year, Lucy bit her tongue. She could see eyes staring at her through the windows.

Oh. Well it was an office after all. They had the right to stare at loud people who'd probably entertained/interrupted Friday morning task lists for three quarters of an hour.

Still, Lucy, unnerved, practically walked backwards, trying to ascertain why she still felt eyes upon her back, even at this end of International Boulevard, with fountains all around, and food carts blocking every sightline.

A band warmed up on the Chevrolet Main Stage beside them, and Lucy measured her steps with drum beats. One last look behind her... and blam.

She knocked over a giant billboard. Righting the errant sign, she read: "Welcome Walker and the Texas Rangers to the Chevrolet Main Stage: Friday at 4 and 8 pm."

Well then. More country music, apparently. Not for her.

Eyes watched her from the stage, interested. Eyes watch her from behind, interested.

Her clan had unexpectedly stopped at Oak Farms Children's Activity Center, so Lucy disappeared into a red and white striped circus tent, following familiar infant bellows.

Television cameras blocked her path.

Her sister-in-law was leaning over a short plastic barrier, placing her crawling babe on a white line of duct tape.

As a whistle blew, Lucy heard a television reporter beside her announce a live shot from a baby crawling contest at the State Fair of Texas.

Oh. Live.

Lucy ducked out of their shot.

Crawl, baby, crawl.