You didn't have to. No. He looked back at her. That was his point. Naomi lowered her eyes. For weeks, she had been thinking about Marcus as absence.
A debt left behind. A photograph in a chest. A voice she missed when she was scared. Now she was hearing him returned through someone else's life. Walter stood slowly.
He helped a lot of people. I know. No. Walter shook his head. I don't think you do. Naomi frowned.
Walter pointed toward the pin. That heron wasn't just a logo on a gym bag. What was it? Walter hesitated, then glanced toward the door. Open door worked with Riverton.
Naomi stared at him. What do you mean? Community training, equipment, volunteer instructors, evening programs. My dad never talked about that. He didn't talk about much if it made him look important.
Naomi almost smiled. Walter continued. Years ago, this school was close to cutting community athletics completely. Naomi's attention sharpened. Marcus stepped in.
How? Walter shook his head. That story isn't mine to tell halfway. Naomi frowned. Walter.
He raised a hand. I mean it. What does that pin mean to Riverton? Walter looked at the bronze heron for a long moment. More than most people walking through this building would ever guess.
Naomi felt the old fear return. Not because Walter sounded dangerous, because the weak had taught her that hidden things could be used. Please don't tell anyone about us. Walter looked confused. Our titles.
Naomi's voice lowered. Not yet. You think Ryan will use it? I think Ryan is trying to make us look like a threat. Walter understood.
If the school suddenly learned two women accused of intimidation were trained national champions. The truth could be twisted before it could protect them. Naomi continued, "My dad taught us to control what we could." Walter nodded. And right now you want to control the timing.
Yes. He considered that then held out his hand. You have my word. Naomi shook it. Walter's grip was warm and firm.
Thank you. He looked toward the gym bag again. But Naomi, yes. If somebody at Riverton tells you that you don't belong here," his face changed. There was nostalgia in it now, only certainty.
Don't believe them. Naomi stared at him. Walter picked up his clipboard. That pin means more to Riverton than you know. Then he opened the equipment room door and stepped back into the fluorescent hallway.
Naomi remained where she was for several seconds. The bronze heron rested against her fingers. For the first time since Ryan Whitmore had started harassing them, she felt something other than fear or anger. She felt a question opening. And somehow she knew the answer was waiting inside Riverton itself.
By Friday evening, Riverton Athletic Center no longer looked like a college building. It looked like money. Warm light spilled across polished floors. Tall arrangements of white flowers stood beneath donor plaques. Servers moved through the reception hall carrying trays of sparkling water and ordurves while a string quartet played softly near the staircase.