thirteen

Ms. Washburn spoke very little during the drive back to the Questions Answered office, which took twelve minutes. This was not unusual, but she continued her relative silence even after we resumed our workstations, and that was not what I had expected. I decided she was deep in thought. I am often fairly uncommunicative when a question is consuming my interest.

She worked at her desk for thirty-two minutes while I attempted to make some sense of the succession of ownership at Fontaine and Fontaine Real Estate. The business listing with Middlesex County filed at its inception indicated that it had been owned jointly by Brett and Virginia Fontaine, but there were additional papers filed only six months ago redistributing the ownership equally to Brett Fontaine and Leon Rabinski with no mention of Virginia. There was no need at that time to explain the change in ownership and none was offered.

I had struggled to find additional documentation when Ms. Washburn broke the silence in the room by saying simply, “Samuel.” My natural response was to look in her direction and I saw that Ms. Washburn was walking toward my desk. “I have a thought about the way we’re looking into Ginny Fontaine’s question.”

Since Ms. Washburn had been the lead researcher on the question and since I have always held her intelligence to be very high, it occurred to me that she was placing more emphasis on her current notion than usual. I nodded for her to continue because I wanted to communicate my interest in hearing more.

“I think maybe we should start interviewing people involved separately,” she said. “It could make more efficient use of our time and we could choose our subjects based on our strengths. There’s no reason for both of us to be there every time we talk to someone about this question.”

To split up the work would be a break in protocol. For one thing, I do not drive very often so any interviews I conducted would require a ride to and from the venue assuming it was not within walking distance. But more interesting to me was Ms. Washburn’s impetus for suggesting her strategy precisely at this moment.

“Surely that has always been the case,” I answered. “What has raised this issue now?”

One thing Ms. Washburn has never done is to lie to me. But I could tell when she suddenly found a pen on my desk fascinating enough to watch it intensely that she was uncomfortable answering my question. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” she said.

That was not an adequate response. “But you did not say anything to me,” I answered. “Is there a reason on this question that it is better we split the interviews?”

Ms. Washburn squinted for a moment, almost as if wincing in pain. “I don’t want to say this the wrong way, Samuel, because I don’t think it will sound the way I mean it and I really don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

My feelings? There was something about this issue that would in some way embarrass or wound me and Ms. Washburn was attempting to shield me from the pain. What could that point be?

It came to me in a moment, all at once. “You felt that I was a liability at the interview with Leon Rabinski,” I said, almost forgetting I was talking to Ms. Washburn. Neurotypicals tend to call this thinking out loud, as if such a thing were possible.

Ms. Washburn shook her head but continued looking at the pen. “Oh no, Samuel,” she said. “I wouldn’t say a liability.”

The ideas came flooding into my brain. I had been blunt and socially awkward in the interview with Rabinski, asking him questions he found upsetting and interrupting Ms. Washburn. I had gotten us thrown out of his office. We might have gotten more information, as she was suggesting, if Ms. Washburn had been sent to talk to Rabinski alone.

Without me.

I stood up and began circumnavigating the room, raising my arms and increasing my speed. I barely heard Ms. Washburn say, “Samuel, it’s not time for you to exercise yet. Samuel!”

But my momentum, fueled by the recriminations I was hurling at myself mentally (that is a metaphor), would not abate. I walked faster and faster and flung my arms into the air with increasing levels of force as I walked. I knew I was muttering aloud but was not able to control my thoughts or my speech.

“I am a liability, a drag on the business … It is my fault we have no strong information on this question … Ms. Washburn would be better off alone … If I could empathize with others I could find the answer … ”

My mind was so cluttered with words and emotional thoughts that I had not even managed to count the number of laps I had completed around the office. I stopped only when I became aware of Ms. Washburn standing directly in my path at an especially narrow junction between the drink machine and one of the pizza ovens. She had a determined look on her face and was holding her arms out, palms extended, to halt my progress as I walked. Her strategy was successful, as I stopped directly in front of her. It is possible I even stopped talking to myself.

“Listen to me,” Ms. Washburn said. “Nobody is suggesting that you aren’t really good at what you do. The last person on this planet who would say such a thing is me. You’ve taught me so much I can’t even begin to measure it. But in some cases the key is establishing a bond with the person you’re talking to, and as it happens I might be better than you at that one thing. It’s not a failure and you’re anything but a liability. Samuel, you know you have a special mind and that’s one of the reasons I love you. So stop blaming yourself for not being perfect and understand that maybe if we manage to split things up we can both do better.”

I was breathing heavily and I felt a ring of perspiration at my hairline. My arms felt heavy. My head was hanging a little low. I found myself looking at Ms. Washburn’s feet rather than into her eyes and corrected my posture.

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, you are correct about that. All of that. We should separate the work. I can ask Mike the taxicab driver to take me to my appointments. It would be more efficient and you can do better on your own without me to irritate some of the subjects. I see that you are right. But I think perhaps it would be best if I sat down now.”

Ms. Washburn reached over to take my arm but I walked to my chair unassisted, feeling the cling of my shirt and wondering if I should consider bringing an extra set of clothing to the office for just such occasions.

She knelt down by the chair as I caught my breath, an expression that would indicate breath could try to elude someone. “Are you all right?” she asked.

I realized then I had sent an improper signal. “Of course,” I assured Ms. Washburn. “I simply tried to do the laps around the office too quickly.”

“Good.” She took eight seconds to be certain I was not having a medical issue and saw my breathing was normalizing. “So you agree that we should split up the interviews?”

I had already said that was the case, but I nodded. “It seems logical to do so.”

Another six seconds. “Is there anything you want to say to me, Samuel?” Ms. Washburn asked.

It would be possible to store an extra shirt and other items of clothing in the men’s restroom in the office, but Ms. Washburn’s question penetrated my thoughts and puzzled me. Clearly there was some response she was expecting. I did not know what it might be and that created some anxiety for me. If I said something that was not what Ms. Washburn was expecting, she would think me rude or insensitive. I am especially careful about this when talking to Ms. Washburn because by contrast I usually don’t care whether other people consider me rude or insensitive.

“Thank you,” I said finally. It seemed the safest choice, and I was grateful to Ms. Washburn for clarifying the issue and disillusioning me of the notion that I was a useless member of the Questions Answered organization. I hoped that was the issue to which she was alluding.

Her mouth twitched a tiny bit on the left side and she studied my face for four seconds. “You’re welcome,” she said. She stood and walked back to her desk and resumed her workstation.

I was not certain, but I thought I might have given her the wrong response.

Even as I continued to research the ownership of Fontaine and Fontaine—and became more convinced that Leon Rabinski and not Virginia Fontaine was now sole owner of the business—I mused over the most recent exchange with Ms. Washburn. Should I ask her what response she had been expecting? Should I consult Mike the taxicab driver (who often explains some human interactions to me) when he drove me home this evening? Would it make sense to ask my mother over dinner, or would I be inhibited by the presence of Reuben Hoenig?

The interaction had dominated my thinking for twenty-six minutes when Ms. Washburn stood and said she was going to leave for the day. She asked if I’d like a ride home and I declined. Tonight it was probably best to contact Mike the taxicab driver.

“So Janet told you that you weren’t a drag on the company and you said thank you.” Mike the taxicab driver knew better than to converse with me while operating the Toyota Prius he drives professionally. He was speaking as we waited for a red traffic light. “I don’t see anything wrong about that, Samuel.”

I will admit to a sense of relief. “I am glad to hear it. I would not want to hurt Ms. Washburn’s feelings.”

“Especially now that she’s your main squeeze,” Mike said. I could see the side of his mouth widen to a grin even from the back seat of the taxicab. Mike likes to use such terms just to see if I will react to them, but with an iPhone I have been able to look up definitions even as we travel so I can respond appropriately. He had used this one four times previously.

“I do not think you are analyzing our relationship accurately,” I said, most likely for the fourth time. “But I am glad you don’t see a serious mistake in what I said.”

We were silent as Mike began to drive again and waited until he had parked the car in my mother’s driveway. Mike secured the parking brake and turned to face me before I could make my way out of the taxicab.

“I know Janet,” he said. “If she reacted the way you said she did, something was bothering her maybe just a little. Are you sure you didn’t leave anything out of the story?”

I did not believe there had been an omission but tried to remember everything that had been said. I recited as much of our conversation as I could recall verbatim to Mike, but it was not complete. I do not remember everything people say to me. Even when I care about the other person’s emotions and the topic being discussed, my mind tends to focus on certain areas at the expense of others. It was something I had been attempting to work on in sessions with Dr. Mancuso.

When I had finished my recitation Mike tilted his head slightly to one side and pursed his lips. “I’m not hearing anything that would get somebody upset,” he said. “Maybe Janet’s just in a mood.”

“Everyone is in a mood,” I told him. “They vary in tone and intensity.”

Mike laughed. “That’s true, Samuel. You need me in the morning?”

I got out of the cab and walked to the side of Mike’s open window. “I will text you if I do,” I said. “Is the usual time agreeable?”

“That’s why it’s the usual time,” he answered and nodded as he backed the taxicab out of the driveway. Mike does not allow me to pay him for the rides he gives me and I have, after many attempts, stopped offering because he told me to do so.

It was, as had often been the case, comforting to talk to Mike about my conversation with Ms. Washburn and more so to hear him speak on the subject. Mike says he has had many interactions with women and understands such relationships much more fully than I do. I felt less anxious about the look on Ms. Washburn’s face.

But I still had trouble falling asleep that night.