Part 9 (1/2)
”Good,” Julie said, smiling. She laid a soft hand on my arm. ”And you?”
”I'm. . . OK, I guess. But --”
”Good,” said Julie. ”Listen, Andrew, if you're not busy right now, I'd really like to talk some more about --”
The words were out of my mouth before I had a chance to think about them: ”I can't do it, Julie.”
She paused in midsentence. I felt a twitch go through the hand on my arm.
”What you asked me about Penny,” I explained, though I'm sure Julie knew exactly what I was referring to. ”I can't do it. I know you asked me to think about it, and I have, but what I'm thinking is that I just can't. So. . . so I wanted to tell you straight out, so we're both clear on it. I hope you understand.”
Julie took her hand off my arm. Her lips were pursed. ”She understands, all right,” said Adam.
”So anyway,” I went on, babbling now, ”anyway, I've got something important I've got to take care of, so. . . so I'll talk to you later, OK?” Even as Julie opened her mouth to reply, I turned and ducked back into my tent.
I stopped just inside and waited. Julie didn't try to follow me in, but she didn't leave right away either -- I could hear her just beyond the tent flap, breathing loud through her mouth. Finally she said, softly but distinctly, ”f.u.c.k,” and stalked off, the soles of her shoes slapping hard against the Factory's concrete floor.
”Phase two,” said Adam, ”will be starting early this time.”
I went back to my desk, and reread the words on the computer screen: one more thing a.s.shole if you hurt her we will f.u.c.k you up like you wouldt believe ”What should I do about this, Adam?”
”Well, you could tell them not to call you an a.s.shole. That worked pretty well yesterday.”
”I'm serious. Should I be worried?”
Inside, I felt Adam shrug. ”Probably not -- not yet,” he said. ”It sounds like a protector, probably just fronting, talking tough so you'll be careful with her. . . I mean, if they don't take no for an answer, that's different, but for now --”
I had a mental image, not of Penny, but of Julie, stomping away angrily. ”Maybe we should try to help them,” I said.
”Don't be stupid. It's a bad idea; you said so yourself. Besides, you don't really want to.”
I didn't argue the point. Instead I transferred the two Thread messages, unanswered, into my ”Saved” folder.
I decided it would be a good day to check on the condition of the shed roof. I got an extension ladder and spent the next hour making a very thorough search for loose s.h.i.+ngles, gaps, and rotten planking.
Around ten-thirty I heard Julie calling up to me. She sounded anxious: ”Andrew! Andrew!”
”What happened?” I hurried to the edge of the roof, nearly losing my balance. ”What happened?
Did somebody get hurt?”
n.o.body had gotten hurt. Julie sounded anxious because she was mad. ”What the h.e.l.l are you doing up there?” she demanded.
”What the h.e.l.l do you think I'm doing up here?” said Adam. He said it in the same casual tone that he uses when he's feeding me lines, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from repeating the words aloud.
”Checking for leaks,” I told Julie. Inwardly, I warned Adam to knock it off.
”Did I tell you to check for leaks today?” asked Julie.
”Well, no,” I said, ”but. . .” But that was irrelevant, since she almost never told me what to do.
”Did you need me for something?”
”Yes! That's why I've been looking for you everywhere!”
”Oh. . . OK, I'll be right down. . . Where do you want me to meet you?” But she had already gone back inside, slamming the door behind her.
”'She's been very kind to us,'” said Adam.
”Be quiet.”
I found Julie and the others in the Big Tent. Julie was conferring with Dennis, while Irwin, cross-legged on the floor, replaced some bad wiring on one of the data suits. Penny sat off in a corner, typing away on a laptop. I felt a weird flutter in my stomach at the sight of her, but when she happened to glance over at me, there was no special antic.i.p.ation or acknowledgment in her eyes; whatever soul was in charge of her body right now, it wasn't the author of either of the e-mails.
I went over to Julie and stood patiently by her side waiting for her to notice me. ”Oh,” she said mildly, several minutes later. ”We don't need you after all. Never mind.”
”Oh- kay. . .” I said.
”Since you're down here, though,” Julie added, before I could walk away, ”why don't you give Irwin a hand?”
Irwin looked up at the sound of his name, and I could tell from the baffled expression on his face that he didn't need my help and didn't understand why Julie had said that he did. But I went and sat down with him anyway, and tried to make myself useful.
At some point I felt myself being watched. I turned my head; Penny was staring straight at me now, a new soul looking out through her eyes. Thread, I thought.
”Thread,” Adam confirmed. ”She doesn't look p.i.s.sy enough to be the other one.”
Then Dennis hollered ”Hey Mouse!” and Thread, or whoever it was, blinked and disappeared.
Adam and I both kept a lookout, but Thread didn't return for the rest of the morning. After lunch, I went back up on the roof.
Subject: Dear Mr. Gage, Date: Wed, 23 Apr 1997 01:04:17 From: Thread < To: [email protected] Dear Mr. Gage, I hope my request was not an imposition. Perhaps I should have contacted you in person, but I am somewhat shy, and sensed that you might be too. . . is there some time and place we could meet, face to face? If it is convenient for you. . .
t.
”I guess I can't put this off any longer,” I said. Adam didn't respond. I tried again: ”I probably should have written back yesterday, huh?”
Still nothing. It was Wednesday morning, and Adam was giving me the silent treatment, paying me back for taking Aunt Sam's side in an argument last night.
”Fine,” I said. ”I can handle this myself.”
There was the briefest snicker from the pulpit, then silence again. I opened up an e-mail reply window in my Web browser, and poised my fingers over the keyboard.
Dear Thread, I thought, but didn't type, I'm sorry, but I can't help you, or Penny. . .
Dear Thread, though of course I'd like to help you, I'm afraid I'm not the right person. . .
Dear Thread, if Penny is really ready to ”find herself,” then what she needs is a good doctor, not-- ”Dear Thread,” Adam offered, unable to resist, ”the truth is I don't give a rat's a.s.shole about you or Penny. But since I'd probably kiss a rat's a.s.shole if Julie Sivik asked me to, I've decided to d.i.c.k around about this --”
”Be quiet,” I said.
”What? I thought you wanted my advice.”