Any physics nut will tell you that there’s never nothing. I’ve been hearing this from Dad all my life. Now I get it. For example, split the atom and you get neutrons and electrons and protons. Keep splitting and you get neutrinos and quarks and muons and antiquarks and mesons—on and on and on, smaller and smaller and smaller. Less and less mass, more and more energy.
It all gets down to the little things. Like two blankets, two cities, two dates, and two people.
After I talk to Sheila, I don’t see how the facts can add up to anything. But it’s never just about the facts. Sherlock Holmes proves that, case after case. It’s all about what you do with the facts, how you look at them.
When I do an instant message to Alicia on Wednesday afternoon, she starts right in asking me a million questions about Sheila—how did she react, what did she sound like, was she happy, does she have a boyfriend, is she excited about finding someone else like her—on and on. Instant messaging with Alicia takes forever. It’s not the connection, because she’s got one of those lines that’s always connected. It’s because the text-to-speech function on her end has to say everything out loud before she can type back an answer.
I finally have to shut her off because I need to just think about what to do. But Alicia doesn’t want me to think about it. She wants me to call my dad and tell him the news, and then have my dad call her dad so they can talk about it.
bobby7272: no can do. i promised Sheila i wouldn’t tell anyone about her. except you. i told her i had to tell you.
aleeshaone: had to? why?
bobby7272: isn’t that obvious?
aleeshaone: maybe. tell me anyway
bobby7272: i told her I wouldn’t lie to you
aleeshaone: so touching. still, u have to tell your dad and my dad. they can help.
bobby7272: i’ll think about it
aleeshaone: don’t think. do. time’s up. it’s time to do.
bobby7272: don’t b bossy
aleeshaone: DO! DO! DO!
bobby7272: gotta go
aleeshaone: coward
bobby7272: m not
aleeshaone: r2
bobby7272: m not. i don’t want to break a promise.
aleeshaone: so just give the dads the info. don’t give the source. but they have to have the info. and maybe more. u might have to call your girlfriend back and talk real nice to her. all kissy kissy.
bobby7272: ha ha so funny
aleeshaone: so call your dad, ok?
aleeshaone: OK???
aleeshaone: BOBBY YOU ANSWER ME!!!!!
bobby7272: ok ok ok. bossy!!
aleeshaone: flattery will get you nowhere
bobby7272: i’m already nowhere
aleeshaone: so true
bobby7272: bye.
aleeshaone: let me know----promise???
bobby7272: promise. bye---bossy.
I start to dial Dad’s number three times, and three times I stop. I found this woman. Not him. It’s my discovery. Not his. But after I wrestle with it for about five minutes, I know I’d be stupid not to tell him. And I’ll still be the one who found her. That’s not going to change.
When I reach Dad at his office and tell him, he almost goes nuts.
“What?! You’re kidding! This is fantastic, Bobby! Hold on—I’ve got to shut my office door.”
Then comes the hard part, because he wants to know everything, but I’m not telling. “Dad, I promised to protect this other person. So all I know right now is that it happened in Denver, Colorado, on the night of January twelfth three years ago, and the same kind of blanket was being used.”
“And this person is about how old?”
“Does that matter?”
“Could, Bobby. Everything could matter. Like what kind of a house it happened in, any other appliances in the room, the exact location of the house—everything could be very important.”
“Well, all I can tell you right now is the date and the year and the place. If we need more, I could maybe call her back and—”
“Aha! So, it’s a woman! See, that could be important! Because men and women have different chemical make-ups, different muscle densities. We need more data, Bobby. The more the better.”
Dad’s giving me the third degree, major interrogation, and it really ticks me off. For the past few years I’ve just been gritting my teeth and kicking my door and swearing under my breath at him about stuff like this. I know he’s excited, and I know that the guy lives for data. But here I am, and I’m telling him I’ve made a promise, and he acts like that doesn’t matter.
I’m about to shout something and slam down the phone. But instead, I get this calm feeling and I say, real quietlike, “Dad, this lady wants to stay out of all this, and I promised her I’d respect that. So I’m not telling anyone, not even you. When I make a promise, it has to be real.”
I guess I must have sounded like the president or something, and it’s so quiet for a second that I think maybe he fell off his chair.
Then he says, “Of course. You’re right. Sorry, Bobby. We’ll work with this, and see where it leads us. Quite right, son. Have to keep your word.”
And it’s like the whole world has shifted about ten feet to the right. I’m not where I used to be, and I see it, and Dad sees it too, and he sees me seeing him see me.
Anyway, he says he’s going to call Leo—that’s Professor Van Dorn—and he’ll talk to me tonight when he gets home.
Then he says, “I don’t know how you located this woman, Bobby, but it’s not a small thing. This is first-class work, son. First class.”
It’s the tone of his voice that gets me.
He doesn’t say, “I’m proud of you.” He doesn’t use those words. But that’s what I hear. My dad’s proud of me.