Parallelogram Omnibus Edition

by Brande, Robin

  Francie laughs, but won’t give up. “The man won’t last forever. Shouldn’t we preserve what he might have to say? Otherwise you’ll turn up some irresistible tome some day,” she gestures toward the book Sam is reading, “and think, ‘Venn knew all about this. I should have asked him when I had the chance.’”

  Sam shuts his book. “It’s true the man does know a few things about a few things, but I really don’t see—”

  “I don’t think he’d do it anyway,” I interject. “He’s pretty private.” I think of those two snippets of archival footage I watched with Daniel last night. Dr. Venn might have been nice to us, but obviously he can be a bear to reporters and anyone else who wants to challenge his work.

  “No,” Sam says with an air of finality. “That tiger bites. Forgive my keen sense of self-preservation.”

  “We’ll talk about it later,” Francie whispers to me in a voice loud enough that she obviously means for Sam to hear.

  “Right, then,” Sam says, rising to his feet and tucking his research book under his arm. “I have easier tasks at the moment. Do you want to work on those Olga edits with me this morning?” he asks Francie.

  A cold shot of electricity races up my spine. Yesterday was Tuesday. I met Olga at their studio Tuesday afternoon. Her session still went on without me.

  I can still feel her soft, small hands gripping tightly to mine. See her sitting across from me with her eyes closed as the images of what happened to Halli and me flitted across her mind. “You have given me a puzzle. How exciting. Thank you.” Then the answer coming to her, words that were sweet to my ears: “Alive! She’s alive! Go to her!”

  So I did.

  A mistake I can’t repeat.

  But how am I supposed to stop Halli from doing everything she did if I can’t talk to her? The truth is, I haven’t really allowed myself to think too much about it. There’s a nice, protective barrier in front of it in my mind, and I know on the other side is a whole mess of problems I’m not ready to confront. It’s easier right now to just worry about myself. But I know at some point I’m going to have to think through the Halli puzzle, too. And do something about her.

  Just not right now. Right now I have reporters to deal with.

  “What can I do to make them leave me alone?” I ask Sam and Francie.

  Sam shrugs. “Give them what they want. Most of those people out there have been sent by their heartless producers out into the rain on a cold, dismal morning to bring back some sort of footage on Halli Markham. They’d probably all love to go back to their warm, dry studios. Or at least go on to something else besides standing there freezing their bums off.”

  “But what if I don’t want to talk to them?”

  “I’m afraid that won’t satisfy their producers,” Francie says.

  “What if I’ve already agreed to give an exclusive to someone else?”

  “Have you?” Sam asks.

  I describe the deal I made with Bryan.

  “Might do,” Francie says. She gets up and pulls a box off the counter. “Let’s go ply them with some of Sarah’s biscuits and speak to them like the civilized people we all are.” She turns to Sam. “Would that have worked with you?”

  “Biscuits, yes. A reasoned, civilized argument—no. Because then I’d have to explain to my boss why I’ve come back with crumbs on my shirt, but nothing else to show for my last three hours on the job.”

  “Is that how long they’ve been out there?” I ask. The idea is kind of horrifying.

  “Not quite,” Francie says, “but long enough to nab Sarah and Daniel on their way to school.”

  Now I really feel bad. “Do you know what they said?”

  “I heard the word ‘vultures’ from Sarah,” Sam says, “and I believe Daniel was of the ‘no comment’ variety. There was some insinuation that he’s your new beau. But he’s with your cousin, isn’t he?”

  “They … broke up.” Lie or don’t lie? “Daniel and I do … kind of like each other.”

  Francie’s eyebrows lift. “Well! You are full of surprises. I think I understand why they’re so persistent. Although I do tend to agree with the ‘no comment’ approach. Citizens are entitled to their privacy, no matter how tantalizing their stories might be.”

  I have the feeling Dr. Venn would see it the same way. I can’t imagine him sitting down with anyone in the media and telling them any of the secrets he’s told me.

  Sam glances out the window. “Your car is here.”

  Francie offers me the box of cookies, but I don’t think Sarah would want me to waste them on the vultures. I pull Daniel’s big coat from its hook by the door and grab an umbrella out of a tall basket. I summon Red, who’s been sleeping on the couch in the living room. That dog does make himself at home.

  “Talk to him,” Francie says. “Dr. Venn, I mean. It wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

  “Here, tiger, tiger …” Sam coos.

  “Especially if he’s willing to talk about the rift,” Francie adds.

  “The rift?”

  “With his fellow physicists,” she says.

  Halli’s father had mentioned something about that, too. How Dr. Venn had been ousted from a physicists’ group.

  “Do you know anything about it?” I ask.

  “Apparently someone died,” Sam says. “But no one has been willing to go on the record as to why.”

  If he’s talking about the other Edgar Venn, I’m about to go ask the same question.

  27

  It comes in handy to have a dog who doesn’t like strangers.

  He can’t stop the reporters from shouting at me, but he does keep them a respectable distance away. Wilkinson stands in the rain holding the door for me, while Jake gets out to smile pleasantly at the reporters and tell them, “Miss Markham will spend the day on confidential company business. That will be our only statement today. Thank you.”

  Red hops in, I hop in, then the car is blissfully quiet. Wilkinson starts it up and goes back to sipping his tea and reading. Jake taps on the divider between the front and back seats.

  I look up to find a list displayed there. Names and times and subjects.

  I don’t even have to ask.

  Jake wedges in his ear button and I reluctantly do the same.

  “Will you be visiting any of these people?” he asks me.

  “No.”

  “Do you want me to?” he offers.

  “No.”

  There are ten names of professors and the subjects they teach. Someone—Halli’s mother or father or some employee of theirs—has obviously set up appointments with each of them. The schedule is filled from 10:00 to 4:30 in half-hour slots. They were good enough to give me an hour for lunch.

  “What will you say when they find out you didn’t talk to any of them?”

  “That’s my problem,” I tell him. Then I take out the ear button, close my eyes, and lean back to ride in silence. Red gives his customary pre-nap moan and lays his head across my lap. Between him and being bundled up in Daniel’s clothes, this is as cozy as I can get.

  I try to concentrate on the questions I want to ask Dr. Venn today: obviously about what happened to the other Dr. Venn. That’s number one. But also about the topic we just barely touched on before Dr. Venn faded yesterday afternoon: how it is that both times when I’ve been Halli, her past was changed before I even got here?

  If everything really is circumstance and choices, then who made the choice to change those pasts? Dr. Venn mumbled something about it being me, even if I don’t know it.

  Well, he’s right—I don’t know it. He’s going to have to explain that one to me.

  I shift in the seat to get more comfortable, and feel the edge of Sarah’s envelope poking into my back. It’s gotten a little crinkled in my back pocket, but once I smooth it out it’s almost as good as new.

  She left it on top of her pillow where I could find it this morning. She was nice enough to sneak out very quietly and let me sleep an extra hour while she got ready for
school.

  I tap the divider and hold Sarah’s invitation against it. Then I lower my window, Jake lowers his, and I pass it to him outside the car. I insert the ear button for what I hope will be a short conversation.

  “What’s this?” Jake asks. He opens the handmade card I watched Sarah create last night. Some people have natural artistic talent, and she’s one of them. All she needed were a few colored pens to turn a plain piece of paper into a mini work of art.

  “There’s a birthday party Friday night for Sarah and Daniel’s father,” I say. “Sarah hopes you’ll come.”

  Jake gives me a look that I don’t know how to interpret—amused? Flattered? He stuffs the note in his coat pocket. “So does that mean we’re staying through Friday?”

  “I am. You can do whatever you want.”

  “Then I guess I’m going to a party Friday night.”

  I shrug. I’m about to remove the ear button when Jake says, “Wait. There’s one more thing. I got a comm from Bryan last night.”

  Great. That guy. “Saying what?”

  “He wants to know when you’ll be ready for your sit-down. He suggested later today. He’s getting impatient.”

  “I don’t care if he’s impatient,” I say. “I’m busy. Tell him I’ll talk to him this weekend. Maybe. If I’m free.”

  “Halli, I don’t want to try to tell you what to do, but it might make your life easier if you just got the guy off your back. Give him his hour. Get it over with. Otherwise he’s going to keep bothering you.”

  How can Halli stand all this? People constantly at you. Expecting you to talk to them, take your picture with them, answer whatever questions they have just because they want to pry. Halli isn’t their property, and neither am I.

  “I changed my mind,” I say. “I’m not going to give him an interview. As of right now, I’m off limits. To everybody.”

  “Okay …” Jake says. He lets that sit for a few moments while he seems to think it over. “So you’re saying …”

  “No interviews, no pictures, no exclusives—nothing.”

  “Your parents might have a problem with that. They agreed to let Bryan—”

  “Jake, I. Don’t. CARE.” I stare at him through the transparent divider and hope I’m conveying exactly how serious I am about being completely over all of this. If this is my last week of this life, I’m sure not going to waste it doing what other people want.

  And if I’m fortunate enough to keep living for a while, then I might as well start enjoying this life right now.

  What would the real Halli do? Exactly what I am right now. I’ve seen her in action, and I know. I might not have liked it when she was bulldozing her way through all the choices I made for myself about how to be Audie, but in a way, it was actually inspiring. She did what she wanted. She didn’t like how things were, so she started making all new choices to fit her own tastes and preferences.

  “In fact,” I say, “from now on I’m not interested in any more meetings with my father or comm calls from my mother. You can handle all of that for me.”

  I saved his job, so now it’s time he repays me. And even if he doesn’t want to do it, do I really care? What do any of these people have to do with me? With me, the real Audie 3?

  The question isn’t what would Halli do, it’s what will I do? What do I want? Who’s standing up for me?

  I know now that I can get money any time I want. Maybe Halli’s parents can take the car and Wilkinson away from me, but Daniel and Sarah can teach me how to get around. I can stay with their family or go back to Mrs. Scott—I’m sure she’ll help me.

  I don’t know why it hasn’t occurred to me until this very second, but the truth is I’m fine. I don’t have to play the Halli game. I can start making up all of my own rules.

  “Do me a favor,” I tell Jake. “Please don’t let them know until the end of today. It will make things easier if I have a ride home.”

  “What makes you think I’ll tell them anything?” he asks.

  “Because you work for them.”

  “What if I worked for you?”

  I narrow my eyes at him. He smiles.

  I don’t get this guy.

  “So what are you saying?” I ask. “That you’ll give up your position with my father—stop being his apprentice, and whatever else you do for my parents—and you want to come work for me instead?”

  “That’s what I’m saying,” he confirms.

  “Doing what?”

  “Whatever you need me to do.”

  I give my head a good solid shake. I feel I should be following this better, but I’m not.

  “Jake, what makes you think I can pay you whatever they’re paying you?”

  “You’re rich.”

  “What makes you think I have any kind of work for you to do?”

  “Everybody has work they want done,” he says. “I’ll bet you could think of ten things right now off the top of your head.”

  Well, at least two: keep the reporters and Halli’s parents off my back.

  But the problem is, I’m not really sure I trust him. Jake of the easy smile and the slick conversation and the two-faced way of dealing with Halli’s parents. How do I know he isn’t some kind of double agent? How do I know he isn’t going to feed them information about me the same way he feeds me information about them?

  But what is there to know about me, anyway? My tracking information already reveals too much. So they know where I am at all times—so what? So they’ll find out I didn’t talk to any of the Oxford faculty they recommended—yeah? And?

  “I have to think about it,” I tell him. “This is obviously a surprise.”

  “Is it?” he asks. “Hm.” He doesn’t seem convinced.

  “For one thing,” I say, “do we really want to have this conversation in front of someone else?” I gesture with my eyes toward Wilkinson.

  “He would be happy to work for you, too. Wouldn’t you, Wilkinson?”

  I can’t hear his answer, but I see him nod.

  What’s going on? How have I suddenly gained two perspective employees?

  “I’ll think about it,” I say again.

  I can see the towers and spires of Oxford in the distance. Once again my pulse starts to speed up in response.

  “Whether or not I hire you,” I say, “I’d really appreciate it if you kept everyone away from me today. Reporters, my parents …”

  “Of course, Miss Markham,” Jake says with a smile.

  It would be easy to take that smile as sincere—easy to take Jake up on his offer right here and now—but something is still bugging me about the whole thing. About him.

  Why doesn’t Red like him? No, it’s more than that: why does Red seem to actively hate him? Is it just some weird anomaly of this universe’s version of the dog and Jake, or is there something more behind it? And is it supposed to mean something to me?

  Wilkinson pulls up to the curb where he left Daniel and me yesterday. The rain has picked up, and Wilkinson is nice enough to hold an umbrella over us as Red and I get out. He hands me that one—a big, wide, obviously higher-quality umbrella than the one I borrowed from Daniel’s house—and takes the lesser one for himself.

  Jake lowers his window just enough for me to hear him. “Do you want us to pick you up for lunch?”

  “Actually, can you just go get sandwiches again?” I ask. “I’ll come and get it when I’m ready.”

  Instead Jake hands me another one of those cards I’m supposed to use to page him. “I’ll be happy to bring it to you.”

  “So these are the kinds of things you’d do for me?” I joke. “You’d give up your dream of becoming a chemist like my father just so you can bring me a sandwich whenever I want it?”

  “Halli,” Jake says, “I’d be happy to do much more for you, if you’d let me.”

  We share a look for a moment and it’s clear to me what he means. I’m going to have to shut that down right away. I’ve already walked that road once and it ended very badly
.

  “No, thanks,” I say, maybe a little more sternly than I have to. But the wall needs to come up, and fast.

  Besides, let Sarah have a chance with him. He has to know right now that he has none with me.

  “You’ll be all right, Miss?” Wilkinson asks. “I might be able to find somewhere closer to park.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I tell him. “Thanks for the upgrade with the umbrella. Come on, Red.”

  I take off at a dash. Anyone watching me right now might think I’m running because of the rain.

  I’m running because I’m finally going to get some answers.

  28

  “Red, my boy! Good morning!” Dr. Venn detaches his arms from the cuffs of his chair and holds them wide for the dog. Red wriggles his way forward, his whole body in a wag.

  “GRANDDAD, KEEP THEM ON THE CHAIR,” Madeline tells him. “YOU’RE STILL TOO COLD.”

  Dr. Venn ignores her for the moment and digs out a few treats for Red. The dog obediently sits. Dr. Venn is less obedient, trying to lean forward and pet Red’s head at the same time his granddaughter is still tucking a blanket around his legs and lower torso.

  “I’ve turned up the heat on the gel,” she tells me, “but it won’t do him any good if he’s not in contact with it. GRANDDAD, ARMS BACK IN, PLEASE.” She carefully repositions his arms inside the cuffs. She might be bossy, but she’s gentle. “We tried to make him stay home this morning—it’s obviously too wet and cold. But he insisted on meeting you.”

  I’m grateful, but I also feel a little guilty. “What can I do to help him?”

  “First,” Madeline says, “you can respect my grandfather’s age and health. He doesn’t account for it himself, I’m afraid.”

  “Of course I will.”

  “Second, you can ensure he’s always warm. I’ve turned up the heat in here, but the blanket is essential as well. Please, if you notice any signs that he’s cold, stop and let him elongate the chair. Standing for a while can restore the circulation. He can’t do it for too long because it tires him, but a few sessions of it a day really help.”

  “I promise,” I tell her. “I’ll do whatever I can.”