Dean put his hand on her shoulder. "No one said anything about you and Byrne except Rudman and we can discount anything out of his mouth, can't we? You're doing great, just keep it up. You don't have a thing to prove to anyone except yourself. You're doing that just fine."
"You know what Jeff said? He said about 99 percent of the people in the world just go along and let things happen to them. There's only a few who get the chance to do exactly what they want to, and they'd better grab it and run before responsibilities tie 'em up in knots and circumstances dictate their life for them. That's why I went back to school. I may not make it, but it won't be because I didn't give it a shot. I'm doing it-me, myself and I- no one else."
"They're holding a memorial service for Jeffrey Byrne next week. You should come up to Parkside. I think he'd have liked your being there." Dean spoke tenderly.
"I've got classes." She said it without hesitation and turned away. Silence followed for a moment before she added, "No, that's a lie. But I won't go anyway. I won't give those shit heads the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I'll do my praying and crying alone."
Cece Baldwin rose to leave and smiled a sad but pretty smile. She insisted on paying for her own coffee. Dean let her. She needed that. After leaving the building, when they were out on the street, she turned back to him.
"If Jeff had wanted, I'd have slept with him-in a minute. But you know, I'm kinda glad he didn't ask." She turned a corner and was gone.
His conversation with Cece Baldwin bothered him all the way back to Parkside. It reminded him of his talk with Monica Cutler on Monday. Everyone else's life seemed to have some force in it, a force that was driving it forward, something much stronger than his life that was plodding along like a Sunday walk to nowhere.
Dean was within ten miles of Parkside before he noticed a blue Ford that had stayed behind him for an unusual length of time. He watched it for a few minutes and then turned quickly to the right. The Ford followed. Dean slowed. So did the Ford. Dean sped up to 80 miles an hour and turned across three lanes to an exit while the Ford tried vainly, but unsuccessfully, to follow. As soon as he had lost the tail, he was sorry, sorry he'd played games and ditched it instead of trying to find out who was following him. Jonathan Winston was sure to ask.