Chapter 68

 

Jared

 

 

On Thursday morning, when Jared drove Patterson to work, he found a pile of dog blankets and dog toys by the door, gifts Yvonne Marie had rejected. But Sandra Ott was optimistic; she had driven past the former Patterson residence and also past the office where the not-yet-ex Mrs. Patterson worked and had not seen the woman's car in either place. On the strength of this observation, Weston phoned the office and was told that Mrs. Patterson no longer worked there.

"So perhaps she really is leaving town," said Jared, feeling hope.

He had thought he might see Carter today, but he didn't. Still, the continued presence of Maud's people was a good sign, he thought – Zarei fumbling after some sort of relationship with Sofi, Lalia trying to promote it, Maud taking part in the shopping expedition, even Chazaerte trying, inexpertly, to talk with Gina. They weren't going to vanish; they were going to let him speak to the Drs. Wood, and they were going to take part, it seemed, in the reception.

He was not especially looking forward to the reception. Neither was Cara; she had spoken wistfully the night before of his teasing suggestion that they leave their friends celebrating and go out alone together instead. But she still felt the public recognition of their marriage was a good thing, and it was wonderful that Ann had gotten so involved that she had set aside her personal problems, and Cara was going through with it, she said, and thank heaven they had had a beautiful wedding all to themselves. And would he like her in pale green?

"I would like you in anything," he told her, "or nothing at all. Although maybe not at the reception." And this got her laughing, as he had intended.

On Thursday afternoon, Patterson got a call from his attorney about putting their jointly-owned house on the market, which was a step forward in the process. His not-yet-ex-wife was visiting her brother, the attorney said, and might not be back for some time. Patterson inquired about enforcement of the joint custody agreement, and his attorney told him to forget the damned dog and concentrate on things that mattered.

In his office with the door closed, Jared made the connection between phone and screen and dialed Trudy's office number. "I'm calling to see if you can recommend a good divorce attorney," he told her, and her mouth dropped.

"Jared, when did you get married?" she asked, her massive body leaning across her desk.

His focus was on Patterson; it took him a moment to process this change in subject. "Well, let's see, not quite two weeks ago," he said. "What I was saying –"

"Jared," said Trudy, and she brought her broad hand down hard on the top of her desk, causing many small things to bounce and roll. "Heaven help me, I was glad to hear you were having fun with someone who wasn't old enough to be your grandmother; I thought it was the best news I'd had in years. But god forgive me, if that little bitch – I'll personally rip her head off her body if she's hurt you!" She glowered at him as, belatedly, he made the connection. "And what in the name of sanity are you laughing about?" she demanded.

"Okay," he said, getting himself more or less under control. "Let's start over. We haven't formally announced it; I suppose we should see about that. Cara and I were married in Permidia a little less than two weeks ago. And so far it's working very well, so you aren't allowed to rip her head off. She's got a doctorate in Alliance Literature and she teaches at the University. She was raised as the only daughter of Dr. Margo Lindstrom; I don't know if you've heard of her."

"Biologist, Azuri/zai," said Trudy, nodding.

"That's right."

Trudy studied him closely. "And you're happy?"

"Oh, yes," he said. "Oh, yes."

"Well, then," she said. "Congratulations. Really. You deserve it; you deserve the best, and I hope your wife knows how lucky she is."

"I know how lucky I am," he said.

"So the divorce lawyer isn't for you?"

"Oh, hell, no. This is for a –" he tried to think how exactly to describe Patterson. "He's a co-worker," he said finally. "This has been ongoing for some time – and now he's fired his present attorney, says he isn't looking after Patterson's interests."

"Property settlements?"

"Well, no," said Jared, "not exactly; that's been pretty well settled." And the settlement had been drastic, but a bathtub, once sawn in half, cannot be unsawn. "The problem is really about custody arrangements."

Trudy nodded, beginning to scribble on her noter. "How many children?"

"Thank god, none," said Jared. "This has to do with their poodle, Yvonne Marie." Trudy raised her incredible brown-gold eyes and looked at him, silently. "I swear," said Jared, fighting with the corners of his mouth. "Yvonne Marie. They had joint custody, but Ione has dognapped her, you might say, in violation of the agreement, on the grounds that Yvonne Marie's psychiatrist claims that Patterson molested her."

"Molested the psychiatrist?

"No, the poodle." A good look at Trudy's face made Jared turn away until he could get his voice under control again. "Look," he said, when he was able. "Patterson's a good man. His rockets don't always fire in sequence, but she, I guarantee, is missing several rockets altogether. And the situation is extremely disruptive; if you could find an attorney who could sort this out and wind it up, everyone at the Institute would be eternally grateful."

"I wouldn't dream of handing this over to another attorney," said Trudy, gazing at him in fascination. "Miss a chance to meet a poodle molester? No way. See if you can get this, what's his name, Patterson, down to my office, say, around four-thirty. With all relevant documents, if he can take the time to locate them. If he isn't busy seducing a St. Bernard."

"I'll get him there if I have to tie him up," Jared promised.

 

Having delivered Patterson to Trudy, Sandy promising to pick him up and drive him back to the Hardesty house, Jared went home to be met with the welcome sight of Willis walking down the middle of the street with only one crutch, and a minimal limp. He had a period of rehab to get through, but he was feeling better about the world already. Gina would be happy when she heard, but Gina was still out with Maud and Cara and Sofi, and time, as Ann mentioned in a slightly hysterical tone, was running out.

Ann had spent the afternoon in close consultation with Al over the cake, and had offended Terry by requesting details on the music, which Terry said was all taken care of and none of her business. Ann planned to spend much of Friday at Kingsleys; she had two noters and a pile of printouts, continually scattered, lost, found again; Ann was happier than she had been since she had broken up with Charles No-Last-Name. Her missing mother appeared to be entirely forgotten. Jared could not spoil her pleasure by protests. He let her alone.

The shoppers appeared just before five-thirty, scrambling out of Sofi's car in high spirits. Sofi had found shoes; Gina had a necklace and, to her delight, earrings, very grown-up ones, which she modeled for Issio and Jared. And Cara and Maud had apparently made their decisions; Ann swept dress boxes, shoe boxes, various other bags out of Sofi's car and carried them at once to the Hardesty house, out of Jared's profane view, to inspect at leisure.

So that was taken care of; Jared had just begun to breathe again when Ann called to ask him what he was planning to wear. Ten minutes later she was in their house looking over his shirts, shaking her head. "You don't want to clash with Cara, do you?" she demanded.

"That would be a very bad thing," he agreed, not looking at Cara, who was making stifled giggling sounds at the far end of the bedroom. Maud, standing in the bedroom door, was grinning openly.

"So you have to buy a new shirt, at least." Ann looked his suit over; it didn't quite suit her taste, it was clear, but it was new, having been purchased last winter for concerts and required Institute functions, and he wasn't about to go out and get another one.

"Yes, he needs a decent shirt," agreed Maud, in the doorway, refusing to meet his eye.

Ann looked with disapproval at his white shirt. "Blue," she said firmly, by which Jared gathered Cara had not, after all, opted for light green.

"What kind of blue? Dark? Light?" he asked, resigned.

"Well, not a grey blue; what you want is a blue with just the least touch of green, maybe a teeny dash of yellow, very pale but not a sky blue, you know, or a baby blue, which I'm sure wouldn't be as becoming anyway –"

"Cara and I," said Maud, "will buy him a shirt tomorrow. We'll even take him downtown with us, if he promises to behave."

"We'll go right now," said Cara, and looked at Jared's expression and stifled another giggle. "Come on, Mother!" The front door banged after her, and Maud lifted an eyebrow at Jared.

"I never behave in stores," Jared told her, and she snorted and walked after Cara.

"Wait, wait," called Ann, "we have to see about his socks, too!"

"I have something I need to do," said Jared, backing toward the porch door. "I'll leave it all to your judgment." This was undoubtedly a mistake, but he felt it would be a greater mistake to stay and discuss the precise shade of blue in his socks.

And there was something he wanted to do; he crossed the lawn to Issio's back door, and found Issio and Sofi in Shamri's room, where Sofi was hanging a picture of a small girl with grey body hair playing in a field of stars under a Zamuaon moon. "Is this not charming?" she greeted Jared. "I found it today in the mall."

"She'll love it," said Jared. "Sofi, may I borrow your husband for a little while? I promise to bring him back."

She regarded him suspiciously. "You are planning something," she said, "and you do not wish to involve me."

"Yes, I want to visit Mimi, and I want Issio and his Ears. I'd like your Ears too, Sofi, but it really is dangerous: I'm convinced of it. You don't want to expose Shamri."

She sighed. "I am in the seventh month," she said, a slight exaggeration. "It will not be too much longer. Go, go." She waved them out the door, watched them as they crossed the lawn. Passing the back of his house, he could hear voices, Ann, Maud, Cara, all arguing about colored borders on hankies and those old black shoes in the back of his closet. They were comfortable shoes. He hoped Ann wouldn't be inspired to do anything to them. His wife, he was happy to hear, was defending them.

They went into Mimi's bedroom from the back porch, moving quietly. Wundra was on duty tonight, sitting very straight in a chair with an unobstructed view of the bed. She had a reader in one hand, and a large cup of tea in the other. In the bed, Mimi lay with closed eyes; she moved and murmured in her sleep. Clyde wasn't in sight; glancing through the door to the living room Jared spotted him on the couch, sleeping much more soundly than Mimi, catching up, he supposed.

"You wish to see Clyde?" asked Wundra.

"No," said Jared. "We're here to see Mimi, or Hear her, maybe. Ears," he said, touching his, and Wundra gave him a look of comprehension.

"Tea?" she offered, and Issio shuddered slightly.

Jared sat down carefully on the side of Mimi's bed. It seemed to help, being physically close, touching, even; Issio brought the straight chair from the corner up beside the bed and sat down and put his hand very gently on Mimi's head, and Jared touched the other side of her face. With her eyes closed she looked more like Mimi; it was the flat cold black eyes that had been so disturbing yesterday.

He put out his mind, felt Issio doing the same, and they slid into a familiar darkness, a barrier; he tried to push through it, and ran again into the thicket of thorny branches resisting their entrance. It felt the same in Mimi's mind as it had felt in the mind of the fly. He could see, distantly, shifting golden light, whatever was beyond the thicket, thoughts and feelings, perhaps even Mimi herself, but there was no getting past the thicket. He tried to move around it rather than through it. He felt Issio trying to go over it; he tried to go under.

No use, we cannot get through, said Issio, and, reluctantly, Jared withdrew as Issio did and they sat in the bedroom looking at each other in frustration.

The thicket rose up before his eyes again, with Lalia Maarchesin pulling herself loose from the thorns. I can't get through either, she said, and Jared took his hand from Mimi's head and looked at Lalia, standing beside Wundra, who was regarding her with curiosity.

"Tea?" she offered, and Lalia smiled and shook her head. "You did not get anything?" Wundra asked Issio and Jared, and they both shook their heads.

"Were you looking for Mimi?" asked Lalia. "I know she's in there, but she's so far back, I can't reach her."

"I'd like to find Mimi," said Jared. "I'd like to know where she is, and what part is Dr. Lindstrom, and what part is neither. And I am curious. Have you noticed the excessively sexual content of their talk? The D'ubian It and his song and dance the other day. That damned stoad."

Issio nodded. "Very true," he said. "You wonder why?"

"Since you would think extra-dimensional beings would have more important things to think about," said Jared, and Lalia laughed and put her hand quickly over her mouth to muffle the sound.

"Excuse me," she said, "but when did that become so unimportant? Especially to beings who don't normally experience sensations like you do?"

"They do not?" said Issio.

"They do not," said Lalia. "At least, if they came through the portals, it's unlikely. They do not have senses like you do. Our ancestors didn't. We have such senses now, because we have some genetic connection with you, but we can't use them in, well, our own places, which is why we are all drawn to your worlds, I suppose. I should imagine the enemies, using vehicles found here, are just now experiencing these senses. It's pretty overwhelming." She smiled. "Just the obvious ones, taste and smell, sight, with the color spectrum. Hearing. The sense of touch. We were not poets and artists and musicians to begin with, only when we began to experience your worlds." She nodded to Jared. "Your It, there, has whatever Dr. Lindstrom knew, and now at least some of what Mimi knows."

"And whatever a fly knows," said Issio, and she nodded.

"And she has some idea of what is possible in this world," she said. "You can see she would be a little, well, carried away with it, regardless of her original intentions."

Jared sat, weighing this new perspective. It was, he found, hard to grasp it; his senses were so much a part of him. All that he knew of his world he had gained through the senses. He could not imagine what sort of world did not allow this. How would this world manifest – intellectually, perhaps, mathematically, unemotionally. And its inhabitants, faced with a world drunk with sensation – he thought of the dancing D'ubian It, and for the first time wondered if the dance were more than merely a means of annoying the beings around it, although that was certainly an important part of it.

But perhaps, in its own strange way, it also celebrated, he thought.

Assuming, of course, that the beings liked the new perceptions – it was quite possible that beings not geared for such a world would find the perceptions distracting, ugly, disgusting, entirely undesirable. He thought he wouldn't be crazy about their world, either.

"Anyway," said Lalia. "I came to consult with Wundra, here, and her sisters; Maud told me what happened yesterday. I understand you intend to change medications?" she said to Wundra, and Wundra reached for her noter and began scrolling. Issio got up and took his chair over to Lalia, and he and Jared left the medical experts to their discussion and went back into the lengthening shadows of a sun reaching the end of Thursday.

"I am glad I do not live where they do," said Issio, as they strolled across the lawn.

Cara's car started up in the car port; from the front porch Jared heard Ann's voice, shouting after the departing shoppers. "Just a touch of yellow, remember, and black socks would be better than the wrong shade of blue!"

"Their world might have its advantages," sighed Jared.