30

On the parking-lot phone Powder called first the Probation Department and then Adele Buffington’s home number. Neither with luck, the luck he wanted: It left him ambivalent. Lots of untied strings hanging around and serious things to do. He felt the lethargy associated with having too many things to do. Which is first? Doing none of them.

What he wanted to do was go out to eat. He was hungry. But he wanted to eat with Adele. Treat her two nights running. He felt tired, but there was a coltish side to his fatigue, one which made pushing on attractive.

But she wasn’t there.

Strings. Whatever happened to his garden? The vegetable plans? Emotionally he frowned as he looked back. On the Vegetable Powder. Amazing he’d gone so long without thinking.

Dead-ender was right. Was.

He tried Adele’s number again. Still empty.

Then he went to sit in his car.

What I ought to do, he thought, is go get a hamburger to tide me over, then take her out to eat later.

But I don’t want a hamburger. I’ve had too many hamburgers in the past. I feel like sauces. New places, new palaces. New solaces.

He rubbed his face again. Shook his head to clear his head. It’s what routines are for. To help you avoid having to decide what to do each instant of the day.

Screw this, he thought. I’m a big boy now. I have responsibilities and I make decisions for myself.

To avoid the big decisions, he thought for a minute about his responsibilities. To read some files before morning.

Shift starts at eight. Jesus, what am I doing going to work at eight in the morning?

Then he thought about what he would do for a place to sleep that night. Not allowed to sleep in his own house.

A decision to avoid.

And Cherry Cable? There was another responsibility. Shove her back on Groce? For nothing to happen. And Rex thinks she’s dead. And Jefty?

Just for something to do, Powder started the car’s engine and drove out of the lot.