Shelter (56 page)

    As always, beneath her anger, the idea of a split filled Roberta with cold terror. She'd been with Doe since college. She'd never lived by herself Did she want to marry Doe? They'd talked about it often enough, but always found reasons to wait. Should Roberta suggest it now? No: fear was a bad reason to get married. Everyone said so. She was just being morbid because she'd had a bad day; Nicholas would make anyone morbid. She'd go home and start dinner, as usual, and then Doe would come home and listen to music, as usual, and maybe they'd have to ask Zephyr to quiet down, as usual. They'd maintain their precarious balance. Everything would be fine.

    But when she got home, she found an exasperated message from Doe about how the new paralegal had made a mess of some job and Doe was going to have to stay late to make sure it got fixed. "I can't believe this. Iuna the Incompetent got the documents completely turned around, sent everything to the wrong people. The clients are not happy, and it's not even like we can fire the bitch. Isn't nepotism wonderful?" Was that a dig at how Roberta had gotten her own job? "Listen, Berta, I'm really sorry about this. I'll be home as soon as I can. Go ahead and have dinner."

    Poor Doe. She hated Iuna, who was the niece of one of the senior partners and therefore got breaks no one else would have gotten, even when she made mistakes. Doe thought Iuna made entirely too many mistakes, and she was sick of having to fix them. Doe wasn't going to be in a good mood when she got home.

    But that meant Roberta could eat what she wanted, without worrying about Doe's diet. She tossed a frozen pizza in the oven—Doe didn't like even having them in the house, and had groused when Roberta bought it—curled up on the couch with a slice and a beer, and switched on the news. To her disgust, she found herself looking at Meredith WalfordLindgren's horsey face, with its white mane and prominent teeth, asking viewers please to donate canned goods and used clothing to CALM. The camera panned back from Meredith; she was standing in a shelter, various bodies sitting and shambling around and behind her.

    Roberta changed the channel, fast. She didn't want to think. about Nicholas and his family right now, and she didn't want to look too long at any of the shelter inhabitants. She was afraid she'd recognize some of them, that she'd find herself staring at the faces of people she'd tried to resocialize, people she'd taught to tie their shoelaces and brush their teeth. That was the last thing she needed tonight. She didn't need anything serious. She'd figure it all out tomorrow, when she could think more clearly.

    She found an old movie, some daft thing about a pair of siblings transported into a television show, and settled down to wait for Doe. After she'd finished the pizza, she lay back on the couch cushions, the beer propped on her stomach, and tried to pay attention to the flim. Then someone was shaking her shoulder, and she woke up to find Doe standing over her, looking penitent. "Berta, come to bed. I'm sorry I'm so late."

    Roberta blinked, sat up, and groaned. She smelled like a brewery.

    "Damn. I spilled my beer all over the couch. That was graceful. What time is it?"

    "Ten."

    "Ten?"

    "Ten. You wouldn't believe what I've been through tonight. Just as I got the Iuna mess cleaned up, a partner came rushing up because he needed a new set of documents—of course he hadn't gotten around to revising them until the last minute, and they have to be filed tomorrow."

    "In that case, you're home early, aren't you?"

    "I left it for another paralegal. With heavy supervision. So how was your day?"

    Roberta blinked. She couldn't remember the last time Doe had asked about her day. "It was, ah, interesting. Little Nicholas is a pretty creepy kid, let me tell you."

    She waited to see if Doe would ask for details, but instead she turned away and walked into the kitchen. "Yeah, well, with that family, what do you expect? I'm making myself some fruit salad and cottage cheese. Want some?"

    Ugh. "No thanks. But you'll be glad to know I ate the evil pizza. It's gone now. You're safe from temptation."

    "Never," Doe said with a sigh, and Roberta laughed.

    * * *

    She stayed at KinderkAIr. She told herself she'd been worrying too much, told herself she needed the pay, reminded herself that she could always blow the whistle on Nicholas, even if Fred refused to do so. Everything went fine for a little while. Nicholas was calm and cheerful and didn't talk about monsters.

    But a week or two after the mice arrived, he started talking about the Hobbit. "The Hobbit said he's not scared of monsters. He said he'd like a pet mouse."

    "Who's the Hobbit?" Roberta asked. Did famous Merry have the kid reading Tolkien? Next week she'd start him on Homer in the original Greek, and the week after that she'd file his Harvard application.

    "Oh, the Hobbit's not real," Nicholas said serenely. "He lives in a hole in the ground, Berta, remember? Fred told us that story."

    "Did he?" Roberta said. She must not have been listening during that particular story time; maybe that had been the day she'd been decorating Zillinth's birthday cake. "Is the Hobbit one of your imaginary friends, Nicholas?"

    He beamed at her. "Yes! He's my imaginary friend!"

    "Well, that's nice. And why does he want a pet mouse?"

    "To keep him company," Nicholas said.

    "Can't you keep him company, Nick?"

    He gazed at her soberly. "He wants the mouse for when I'm not there. I told him he could have Bluebell. He'll let me visit her."

    "Ah," said Roberta. She wasn't up for this today: Doe was home sick with a rotten cold, and had been cranky and demanding and miserable that morning. Fred, say something. "Does he live in your room?"

    Nicholas scrunched up his nose at her. "No, Berta! He lives in a hole in the ground! That's where Hobbits live!"

    "Oh, okay. Uh, Nicky, the Hobbit isn't a monster, is he?"

    "No! The Hobbit's nice!"

    "Oh, good," she said, vastly relieved. "Well, Nicholas, you can't give Bluebell to the Hobbit unless I get a note from your mommy or daddy saying it's okay." Let his parents worry about the strange imaginary friend. "Y ou know that. Those are the rules."

    "I know," he said. ''I'll get a note, I promise." And a few days later, sure enough, he handed her a note from his father, saying that it was all right for Nicholas to bring Bluebell home from school to be his pet. Roberta smiled when she saw it, and said, "Is Bluebell for you, or for the Hobbit, Nicky?"

    He leaned forward and whispered into her ear, "She's for the Hobbit, but Daddy thinks she's for me. Don't tell, Roberta."

    "Okay, I won't."

    "Promise?"

    "Yes, I promise. It's our secret." It wasn't, of course. Fred was listening too. But surely Nicholas knew that.

    "Daddy doesn't know about the Hobbit," he whispered.

    A secret imaginary friend. Well, she supposed she should be flattered to have been taken into his confidence. "I won't tell," she whispered back.

    He nodded, evidently satisfied, and sat back in his chair again. "I brought a box to put her in. I'll give her to the Hobbit and then Daddy and I will go out for hamburgers, because Mommy's making food for the people who don't have houses."

    "That's a very nice thing for your mother to do," Fred said. Roberta supposed that he was keeping quiet about the secret conversation as his own way of keeping the secret. She wondered if he was including the secret conversation on the official record. She told herself not even to think about it. "It's very important to give what we can to people who don't have as much as we do."

    Nicholas nodded solemnly, and said, "I know, Fred. That's why Bluebell's for the Hobbit." So he knew Fred had been listening. Good: that meant Roberta wouldn't have to feel guilty when she talked to Fred about all this later on. And would that be on the record, or not?

    The box Nicholas had brought for Bluebell, it turned out, was extremely small, a pretty little carved wooden box with a lattice top so Bluebell could breathe. It certainly hadn't been designed for transporting mice; it looked like one of those cheap souvenir knickknack boxes from Bali or Thailand. Roberta frowned and said, "Nicholas, I'm not sure that's the best way to take Bluebell home. She could chew the wood, and it's awfully small. Let's see if we can find something bigger for her, okay?"

    "It's just until I can give her to the Hobbit," Nicholas said, his face tensing. "He said he found a big plastic bottle for her. It's in his hole. He made her a nice place to live already. I like this little box. Mommy gave it to me. It's big enough for Bluebell."

    Roberta cursed herself she should have asked to see the box that morning, instead of waiting until just before the end of school. That way she'd have had more time to find something else. "But, honey, she won't be able to move in there."

    "She can move in here a little, and she'll be able to move a lot when she lives with the Hobbit. This way I can put her in my pocket so she won't get cold."

    "But, Nicholas, it's not cold out."

    "But it's windy, Berta, and she isn't used to wind! It's not windy where she lives now!"

    Weird, Roberta thought. This is weird. "Nick, I want her to be in a bigger box, okay? Leave her in the aquarium for now, and let me know when your father gets here. I want to talk to him."

    Nicholas glared at her, and just then Zillinth started screaming because Steven, on the other side of the room, had pulled her hair. "Fred," Roberta said, "make sure Nick leaves Bluebell where she is, okay?"

    "Yes, Roberta." She heard him say, "Nicholas, please put Bluebell down until your father gets here," but she couldn't pay attention to the rest of the interaction, becau e she was busy with Steve and Zillinth.

    "Steven, why did you pull Zillinth's hair?"

    "To put bubble gum in it!" he crowed, and Zillinth began to howl. "It'll never come out, Berta!"

    "Yes, it will. It really will, sweetheart." Tomato juice was good for removing bubble gum, wasn't it? Or was that for removing skunk smell? Well, Fred would know. "Don't worry. Steven, please apologize to Zillinth."

    "I don't want to. It was fun to put gum in her hair."

    Roberta struggled for patience. Wny the hell hadn't Fred stopped this mess before it got this far? "It wasn't fun for her, Steven. That's why she's crying. Say you're sorry!"

    "I'm not sorry," he said smugly. "It was a good trick. Fred didn't even see the gum! I hid it in my hand until I pulled her hair! Ha!"

    Shit. So much for omniscient AIs. KinderkAIr seemed to be turning Steven into a career criminal; he'd gotten entirely too good at hiding his pranks from the cameras. Roberta put on her best schoolmarm voice and said, "Steven, I'm giving you a time-out. Go sit on your nap mat, and stay there." He wouldn't be able to hide it from Fred if he got up. "Go on, Steven, or you won't get any cookies tomorrow!"

    That did it. He went to sit in his corner, sulking, and Roberta turned her attention to the mess in Zillinth's hair. Steven had done quite a job. "I hear that peanut butter works wonders," someone said, and Roberta looked up to find Zillinth's mother next to her.

    Oh, shit. "Mrs. Petroski, I'm really sorry about this—"

    "Good heavens, don't worry about it. If that's the worst thing that ever happens to her, she'll be leading a charmed life. I got gum in my hair ten times a week when I was a kid. Zillinth, sweetie, are you ready to go home now? And we'll wash your hair with peanut butter."

    "Peanut butter? Eeeeew!" Zillinth, looking delighted, left with her mother, and Roberta brushed her own hair out of her eyes. Now for Nicholas and Bluebell. But just then Benjamin came up, fretting because he couldn't find the picture he'd drawn that afternoon, and then Cindy's mother told her that Cindy would be gone the following week because of a family vacation, and did Roberta know if they could get a tuition credit for the unused time? Roberta told her to call the executive director—that kind of administrative nonsense wasn't her job—and finally turned back to the terrarium.

    Nicholas wasn't there. Nicholas wasn't anywhere in the room.

    "Fred? Where's Nicholas?"

    "He left with his father, Roberta."

    She bit back a panicky retort—it wouldn't do to use profanity, whether it was on the permanent record or not—and said, "I wanted to talk to him about Bluebell." She checked the aquarium: no Bluebell. Cover your ass, cover your ass, cover your ass. "I told you not to let Nicholas take her out of the cage, Fred."

    "I know you did, Roberta, but you were busy with the other children and I didn't want to interrupt you. And there was enough room for Bluebell in Nicholas's box. He showed me. She could turn around and she could breathe. I consulted a city map and calculated, given the length of Nicholas's stride, that his walk home will take eight point two minutes, perhaps less if he hurries because he's excited about his new pet. Bluebell will be quite safe and comfortable for that amount of time, Roberta."

    Okay, Roberta thought. Calm down. It's okay. Fred's an expert system; his job is to make your job easier, and he just did. So why did the whole thing make her nervous? Because of Preston, that's why. "Did he tell his father about the mouse, Fred? Or did you tell him?"

    "He showed his father the box before he put it in his pocket, Roberta, and he whispered something in his father's ear. And his father signed the note, so I infer that Nicholas told him about the mouse, yes."

    "Fred, could his father see the mouse through the top of the box? Through the latticework?"

    "I don't know, Roberta. It didn't occur to me to ask. Everything I saw indicates that Nicholas's father knows about the mouse."

    "All right," Roberta said, rubbing her eyes. "Never mind, Fred." She was tired, and she needed to get back home to take care of Doe. Anyway, she had a note from the father, so why was she so worried? Her ass was doubly covered: she had the note, and if anything bad happened, she could blame it on Fred. "I'll ask him about it tomorrow."

    * * *

    On her way home, she stopped by the store for milk and eggs and chicken soup for Doe. She should call Mitzi and ask her to make homemade chicken soup; Roberta didn't have the energy right now, and Doe liked her mother's better, anyway. She'd just have to settle for canned tonight. It was better than nothing.

    Carrying the groceries into the building, she met Zephyr. Like some latter-day Pied Piper, Zephyr wore a flowing gray cape and a bright pink paper flower in her hair; a dozen of her bots, gunmetal gray and chromebright silver and black, brazen gold and iridescent purple, clattered and clanged along behind her. Some were no larger than the mice at the school, while others came nearly to Roberta's waist. They hummed and clicked and whistled, a cacophony of alarm clocks and teakettles. Roberta smiled when she saw them; she couldn't help it.

    "Well, here you are," Zephyr said, as if she'd been looking for Roberta all day. "The kids and I just got back from the park."

    Where they had undoubtedly terrified various human children and spooked their parents, Roberta thought. "How nice. Do they prefer the swings, or the seesaws?"

    Zephyr chuckled. "They're not quite heavy enough for either, most of them. They like the slides and they like the jungle gym. They're good climbers."

    I'll just bet. "Well, I'm glad they got their exercise."

    Zephyr laughed outright this time. "Yeah, their body fat's way down, let me tell you. Ace cholesterol levels too. But they need the sensory input; they need stimulation just like humans do, maybe even more." She gave one of her malicious little grins and said, "Anyway, you and your friend were making such a ruckus that you drove us out of the house."

    "It must have been someone else's ruckus," Roberta said, annoyed. "I was at work, and my partner was home sick." Doe became nearly comatose, even quieter than usual, when she was ill. When Roberta left that morning, she'd been honking forlornly into a tissue, looking utterly miserable. "Daytime rehearsals are fine, Zephyr. We'd just rather you kept it down at night."

    "Hmmmph. Well, your friend, what's her name, Migraine Mary—"

    "Her name's Dorothea," Roberta said stonily.

    "Right. She was home. I saw her on the stairs. And she was making a ruckus with somebody. You might want to check into that."

    Bitch, Roberta thought. Doe had probably gone downstairs to check mail at some point, but none of this was Zephyr's business, and she wasn't going to get into a fight about it. "You heard something else," she said, trying to keep her voice pleasant. "I have to get home now, Zephyr. Good-bye. "

    She started walking up the stairs, only to hear a chorus of high, squeaky good-byes behind her. When she turned, all the bots were waving legs or antennae at her. She found herself waving back, and then, bemused, turned again to trudge up the stairs. Jungle gyms. Oh, brother.

    Yawning, she let herself into the apartment. "Hello?" she called, "Doe? I'm home." No answer: Doe must be asleep.

    Roberta walked toward the closed bedroom door, which she'd left open that morning, and then froze. There was a blue woolen coat on the couch. She'd never seen that coat before. Strange coat plus ruckus plus closed bedroom door—

    Nonsense. Doe would never do such a thing, and anyhow, she was sick. She never wanted to do anything when she was sick. Roberta couldn't think of a reasonable explanation for the second coat, but she knew there must be one. She walked firmly to the bedroom, opened the door, and heard Doe's characteristic chainsaw snore.

    She turned on the light. Doe's head was on one pillow; someone else's was on the other. This, Roberta thought, very precisely, is ludicrous, just as the other head opened its eyes, looked at Roberta, said, "Oh, shit:" and dove under the covers.

    "You'll have to give Dorothea a good poke in the ribs," Roberta heard herself say. "She doesn't wake up easily, especially after orgasms." For some reason, probably shock, she felt like laughing.

    "Oh oh oh," the voice said. "Oh Goddess, oh Lordy, oh—"

    "You should have set an alarm," Roberta said. "Getting caught was pretty dumb, you know." But she already suspected that Doe had planned to get caught, consciously or not, and she felt an odd, floaty sense of relief.

    Ending the relationship wasn't going to be her responsibility. Doe had done it for her.

    The voice was poking Doe now. "Dorry! Dorry! Wake up! She's home!"

    "Mmmphh?" said Doe, and woke up and looked around at Roberta. "Oh," she said, in a nasal voice like Donald Duck's. "Uh-oh."

    "Uh-oh," Roberta agreed.

    "Fuck," Doe said, succinctly, just before she went into a coughing fit.

    "Yes, that's what you just did. I already figured that out. I'm not stupid, you know." She could feel the tears welling up, somewhere deep down, although the laughter was still there too. It was all so cliched, so ridiculous.