Set This House In Order Part 9

"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."

"I do. But if you're not going to be helpful. . ."

I heard the rustle of someone entering the tent and looked up from the computer. "Julie. . . ?"

It wasn't Julie. It was Penny, or rather, Penny's body. The soul was Thread's. I could see the difference in body language right away: where Penny hunched her shoulders as though expecting at any moment to be s.n.a.t.c.hed up by a predator, Thread stood and moved with greater confidence -- even when, as now, she was clearly very nervous.

"Mr. Gage?" she said.

"Hah," I said softly. I took a deep breath: "Hi."

"h.e.l.lo." She stuck out her hand. I took it, and shook it, my emotions suddenly in an uproar. A moment ago, by e-mail, I'd been ready to put her off, but now that we were face to face, I started remembering my father's stories about when he'd first sought help -- how scared he'd been, and how much courage he'd had to muster. All at once, my reluctance to help seemed selfish and mean.

But before that thought could go anywhere, Julie burst into the tent, well into phase two.

"Andrew!" she barked at me. "Andrew, I need you to --" She saw Penny's body, and stopped short.

"Oh," Julie said. She looked from me, to Thread, to our two hands clasped over the desktop, back to me again. "Oh, I'm sorry. . . I'll come back later. . ."

"No!" I jumped up and let go of Thread's hand (actually, I didn't just let it go -- I kind of shoved it away). "No, you don't have to --"

"Didn't mean to interrupt," said Julie. She was smiling now, the same self-satisfied smile she'd smiled two days ago, when Penny and I had first met. "You two keep on, I'll just. . ." She started to back out of the tent.

"You aren't interrupting anything!" I didn't mean to shout, but that's how it came out -- as if Julie had accused me of something awful, and I was denying it with all my might.

"All right," said Julie. "Take it easy."

"What. . . what did you want?"

"The Honey Bucket," Julie said. She wasn't smiling anymore. "It's. . . fouled. Courtesy of Dennis, I think. I need you to clean it up, but if you're --"

"I'm not," I said, my voice still too loud. "I'll get right on it."

I glanced at Thread, who seemed stunned by my outburst but was still waiting to continue, or begin, our conversation. I knew that I ought to say something to her, that it would be rude to just leave her hanging, but I couldn't think of anything, especially not with Julie standing right there, so I just nodded and muttered something incoherent. Then I walked out, trying hard not to look like I was running away.

"Very smooth," said Adam, as I broke into a jog outside the tent. "You were right, you're handling this just fine on your own."

"No thanks to you," I said angrily.

"Don't worry. If you keep freaking out every time she tries to talk to you, I'm sure she'll get the message."

"I'm not freaking out. I was just surprised, that's all."

But a few moments later back in the latrine area, as I was preparing to decontaminate the Honey Bucket, I felt eyes on me, and turned to find Thread standing a short distance away, staring at me. My brain locked up again. I looked down at my feet and tried to think of something to say; I asked Adam for help, but he'd once more fallen silent. Finally, thinking that if I just forced out one word, others might magically follow, I looked up and said "Listen. . ."

She was gone, vanished back among the tents. I didn't go after her. When I next saw her -- about an hour later, coming out of the Big Tent -- she wasn't Thread anymore.

I went back to my own tent then, thinking I'd take another crack at responding by e-mail. My computer was still on, as I'd left it, but the Web browser was closed, and when I reopened it I found that Thread's last message to me had been deleted. I checked the "Saved" folder; the two earlier messages were gone, too.

Subject: Dear Mr. Gage, Date: Thur, 24 Apr 1997 06:01:03 From: Thread To: Dear Mr. Gage, I'm very sorry to have bothered you. I won'twHat the f.u.c.k is your problem a.s.shole ?

someone comes to you for help and you wont even takl to them what is that I ought to kick your f.u.c.king a.s.s you c.o.c.ksucking c.u.n.t Shortly before noon on Thursday, Julie came looking for me again. I was back in the woods behind the Factory, shoveling fresh lime into the pit where we dumped the Honey Bucket waste. As I saw Julie coming I braced myself for a rebuke -- she hadn't told me to lime the pit today -- but when she spoke, her voice was concerned, not angry: "Have you seen Penny?"

"Me?" I said. "No, I --"

"n.o.body else has seen her either. Her car's not here, and when I called her house just now there was no answer. I hope she's all right."

The last sentence sounded like a question, but I pretended not to notice. "I hope so too," I said.

"So you haven't heard from her at all? She didn't say anything about not coming in today?"

"I haven't. . . spoken to her since yesterday. And no, she didn't say anything about not coming in."

Julie nodded, and I felt a flush of shame for having deceived her. I wanted to tell her about the e-mail messages I'd been getting, but I knew if I did she'd want to get involved, and I was having enough trouble deciding what to do on my own.

"All right," said Julie. "I've got to go into Seattle anyway, so I think I'll stop by Penny's apartment.

If she shows up here while I'm gone, will you tell her I'm worried about her?"

"Sure, Julie."

"Thanks." She started to turn away. I bent to pick up the shovel, and Julie said: "Oh. By the way.

"Hmm?"

"What was that all about, yesterday?"

"What was what all about?"

"When I walked in on you and Penny, and you flipped out. What was that about?"

"Flipped out?" I said, trying, and failing, to sound confused. I really am a terrible liar. "I didn't flip out."

Julie said nothing, calling bulls.h.i.+t on me with a lift of her eyebrows.

"I didn't flip out," I repeated. "She, Penny, just came in to say good morning. That's all."

"Uh-huh," said Julie. Then she shrugged, and let it go. "Well, just be sure and tell her I went looking for her. . ."

After I got done with the waste pit I decided to hike into town to pick up some roofing materials.

I got some petty cash, grabbed an army backpack from one of the storage tents, and set off down the road.

It was a beautiful day, clear and warm, like summer. At the Autumn Creek Cafe (a vegetarian restaurant across the street from the Harvest Moon Diner), the waiters had moved some tables out on the sidewalk, so I sat in the sun and had a leisurely meal. There was a radio on inside the cafe, tuned to an all-news station; as I was finis.h.i.+ng up my spinach lasagna, the newscaster announced that Warren Lodge was being sought for questioning by police, who now suspected that he, and not a cougar, was responsible for his daughters' disappearance. That was such good news that I stayed at my table another twenty minutes until the story was repeated, just so my father could come out on the pulpit and hear it for himself. Then I went to the hardware store on Mill Street and bought s.h.i.+ngles.

I was crossing the east bridge on my way back to the Factory when I heard a car approaching. I thought it must be Julie returning early from Seattle, or maybe a lost tourist, but when I looked over my shoulder I saw Penny's Buick coming up behind me. I was still so happy about the Warren Lodge news that I forgot to get fl.u.s.tered -- I raised my hand to wave, and if it had been Thread driving the car I would probably have flagged her down, climbed in, and finally had a chat with her.