Shelter (57 page)

    "It was an accident," the voice said. "We didn't mean it."

    "You didn't mean it?"

    "It just kind of—happened. I brought Dorry some chicken soup at lunchtime because she helped me so much with those documents the other week and—"

    "Documents?" Roberta said. "Ah—you wouldn't by any chance be Iuna, would you?"

    There wasn't any answer. "Doe? You hate her. Hey, you, Iuna, she hates you—mother of trees, Doe, you threw away four years for somebody you can't stand? Are you crazy?"

    But it was already making a twisted kind of sense. Doe might have pretended to hate Iuna, or at least exaggerated her hatred, because she was really attracted to her. And, Roberta realized in a rush of icy clarity, Doe liked people who didn't have their acts together. She liked feeling superior; she liked being with someone she could scold. That was why she'd stayed with Roberta for four years, through a series of bad jobs. And that's why she was leaving now, when Roberta had finally found a job she still liked after three months. I should have quit KinderkAIr after all. Maybe she'd have stayed. But would I have wanted her to?

    "She does not hate me!" the voice said indignantly, and then started coughing. I damn well hope you get her cold, Roberta thought, and I hope it turns into pneumonia, and I hope you die. No, I don't, I don't need that kind of karma, but I hope you get really, really sick. "Um, look, I'm really sorry and I don't blame you for saying that, and I know I don't have the right to ask for anything and this is really awkward for all of us, but would you mind leaving the room for a few minutes so I can get dressed?"

    "Yes," Roberta said, "I do mind. I live here. But I'll tell you what. I'll leave for more than a few minutes; I'll leave for a few hours, and that way you can help Dorothea pack up her things and move them to your house."

    "Ugh," Doe said. "Roberta, don't do this. You can't do this."

    "Yes. Yes, I can." Her voice seemed dangerously steady to her, although her legs were shaking. "The lease is in my name, Doe, remember?" Thank the fates for small favors. Doe had been too busy at work to come down here the day Roberta signed the lease, three years ago. They hadn't thought it had mattered to have both their names on it. They'd talked about adding Doe, later on, but had never gotten around to it. They'd been young and stupid, and it had worked in Roberta's favor. "If you did that, I can do this. I brought you some chicken soup, although I'm sure hers was better. You can take it. It's yours. Good-bye, Doe."

    "Look, I'm sorry, it was an accident."

    "Accident? How could it be an accident?" Doe hardly ever had energy for sex with Roberta even when she was healthy. "Good-bye, Doe. The lease is in my name. That means I have the code to reprogram the locks" Where did I put that? It's on a piece of paper someplace. Well, I can get another copy from the landlord—" and you don't. Get out. I'm giving you five hours, and when I get back I want both of you gone, and whatever stuff you've left behind you've lost. Got it?"

    Trying to look dignified, she turned on her heel and left the apartment. She couldn't collapse here. She couldn't. She couldn't fall apart where they could see her.

    Once she got into the stairwell, the shaking began in earnest.

    Twenty-Two

    SOMEHOW she got outside. It was hard even to get downstairs, because her legs wouldn't work right; she walked with extraordinary care, as if over black ice. She prayed not to meet Zephyr, but the foyer was empty. Once she was on the sidewalk, she faced the decision of where to go next.

    For once, she longed for a car, for the privacy of that little box. Instead she was on the street, and she'd told them—the people upstairs, whom she couldn't even stand to name right now—that she wouldn't come back for five hours.

    Her street instincts kicked in. Walk, walk. It doesn't matter if you know where you're going, as long as you look like you do. Keep walking and don't cry, because a sobbing woman on the street is a target. She didn't know where to go. Where could she go to cry? Her only private place was home.

    Out of habit, she found herself heading to the Sixteenth Street MUNI station. As she walked, her mind jumped with utter clarity and complete lack of logic from one thought to the other. Doe's delay the night Iuna messed up the documents took on a new light now. Roberta would have to replace any household items Doe took with her; she hoped Doe would leave the teapot. She wondered if Iuna had really made mistakes on those documents, or if something else had been happening all along. Roberta hadn't even seen Iuna, who had remained a lump under the covers. Doe had always said she hated Iuna. Roberta would have to have the phone switched over to her name only. Doe had told Roberta once, when they'd first gotten together, that for a long time she'd hated Roberta too, found her whiny and too needy. Should Roberta have seen it coming? Maybe she should have seen it coming. How could she have seen it coming? Had Doe left someone behind when she got together with Roberta?

    Here she was at the MUNI station. She got on a train to the Embarcadero, empty at this hour because nearly everyone was going the opposite direction, away from downtown. It was still only six-thirty, and she'd given them five hours, until eleven. How was she going to fill all that time? Why hadn't she kicked them out immediately? The lease was in her name; it was her place; they should have been the ones to leave, not her. She hadn't seen Iuna. Now she wished she had. She wanted to know what Iuna looked like.

    She was hungry. There was some black bean soup in the fridge, but she couldn't go back yet. She couldn't go back until she was sure they were gone. Not until eleven. Maybe not until eleven-thirty, to be safe. What was she going to do until then? She was hungry. She had to eat. The black bean soup was in the fridge. What was she going to eat?

    She had to buy herself some dinner. Dinner. Could she do that? Yes, she had her wallet with her, here in her pocket; she pulled it out cautiously, first checking on the two other passengers in the car—a woman who seemed to be asleep and a man with his nose in a book—and yes, she'd be able to buy dinner, she had her credit cards and even some cash, oh sweet Gaia, the bank account was in both their names, she'd have to change it. She hoped Doe wasn't going to go to an ATM and withdraw all the cash. Doe wouldn't do that, would she? Doe wouldn't have an affair, would she? They had $800 in their account and Doe could take out only $400 at once, so that was safe; Doe could take half the money if she wanted it, and Roberta would change the account tomorrow. Roberta didn't even know how much of that money was hers and how much was Doe's. Of course not; it was their money, theirs, but that was okay. Doe could have half. That was fair.

    She had to eat. Where was she going to eat? She tried to think of places to eat and remembered a good sushi bar near the Embarcadero station, and then remembered that she couldn't go there because it was where they were going for Mitzi's birthday next Saturday. Roberta didn't want to eat there twice in one week.

    And then she realized that she wouldn't be going to the restaurant on Saturday. She'd never be going to any of the birthday dinners again. She'd never see Mitzi and Hugh again.

    That was when the crying started, great heaving gasps more like vomiting than weeping, tears so fierce and forceful she could barely get her breath. She sensed vaguely that the other two passengers in the car had come out of their stupor and were furtively staring at her; she couldn't even care. She had walked out on Doe without remembering how much else she was leaving at the same time.

    No. No. Doe had walked out on her. Doe was the one who had left, taking the birthday dinners and Mitzi's common sense and Hugh's sense of humor with her. But it didn't matter who had left: Roberta still felt as if she were being swept into a chasm, some deep dark place where she would never see the sun again. She had to get up tomorrow morning, tomorrow and all the days after that, and Saturday and every other birthday after that she'd wonder if Iuna was at the dinners in her stead, and she didn't know how she'd be able to stand it. She wouldn't be able to stand it. She couldn't.

    She bent over, right there on the train, and threw up, again and again, until all that came up was bile. When she looked around the car, it was empty: the other two passengers had fled. She didn't blame them. She got up and moved to another part of the car, where she had to smell her own puke but at least didn't have to step in it—well, it would keep anyone else from sitting in the car, she'd gotten the privacy she'd wanted-and looked at her watch. It wasn't even seven yet. At least four more hours. What was she going to do? She had to eat. She should drink something at least, try to rehydrate after throwing up like that. She had to find some place where she could curl up in a ball and cry safely.

    The train slid to a halt with a grinding of metal on metal. Embarcadero Station, end of the line. Unless she wanted to ride the train back and forth for four more hours, she had to get off

    She got off, her legs still shaky, her face streaked with sweat. Her mouth tasted foul. Of course it did. She shrank from the idea of going to a restaurant like this. Where could she go to get cleaned up?

    She made her way up to the street, shivering, although it was a warm night. She had to be a grown-up. She had to function. She had to go somewhere. She walked, blindly, and cried, and shivered, and then, still crying, found herself standing in front of Levi Plaza. She'd walked to work.

    She could hear clinking glasses and conversation from a restaurant, the fancy Italian place she'd never be able to afford. Numbly, she walked up to the darkened KinderkAIr building. The foyer light clicked on, and the door opened. She walked in, into the blessed warmth, as the other lights softly glowed into life around her. "Roberta?" Fred said. "Roberta, what's wrong?"

    "How did you know it was me?" she asked dully. "How did you know to open the doors?"

    "I have external security cameras, Roberta. What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

    She swallowed. "I shouldn't be here." Her voice was hoarse with tear. "I'm sorry."

    "Roberta, it's all right. I'm here all the time. I like having you here too." She blinked; it had never occurred to her that Fred might get lonely when they all went home. How could he be lonely? Wasn't he talking to Preston? "Roberta, please tell me what's wrong. Why are you crying?"

    She shouldn't have come here. Preston would know. It was none of Preston's business. Would this be on the record? A wave of terror swept over her. She couldn't lose her job too, not after losing Doe. She fought to speak calmly, to seem rational for the records. "Fred, I'm sorry, I'm upset—I shouldn't have come here. It has nothing to do with work. I just came here out of habit. I'll go home now." She couldn't go home now, but Fred didn't need to know that.

    "Roberta, please don't leave. I can keep a secret." Like Nicholas talking about monsters: yes, Fred, I know you can keep a secret, even when you aren't supposed to. "If whatever is upsetting you doesn't have to do with your work here, I won't record it. Please tell me what's wrong. I care about you, Roberta. You're special to me. I don't want you to leave if you're this upset. Stay here until you feel better. You'll be safe here."

    She felt the tears welling up again. It was so stupid, so familiar; Fred told everyone they were special. He said it about fifty times a day. That was his job. She still felt herself yearning to hear it again.

    Be a grown-up. She had to be a grown-up. "You can do that?" she said numbly. "You can just—not record something?" He hadn't actually admitted it before. "Isn't that illegal?"

    "No, Roberta. Not after official school hours. I've already stopped recording, Roberta. Please tell me what's wrong. Why are you crying?"

    She swallowed, standing there surrounded by child-size furniture and picture books and stuffed toys. What were people going to think when they saw this blank in Fred's records? But why would they see it; why would they ever check? She'd bet money that Preston would see it, though. Well, she had the goods on Preston too. And she was here, for better or worse. "I—my partner and I just broke up. She left me for someone else. I left the apartment and, well, came here out of habit, I guess. I didn't really know what I was doing."

    ''I'm sorry, Roberta. It's hard to lose someone you love."

    She swallowed again, past a new, huge lump in her throat. Of course Fred sounded like he understood. That was his job. That's what he was programmed for. It didn't mean anything. He was a machine. How could he understand? "Yes," she said. "It is."

    "I know what it's like to miss someone, Roberta. Every night when you and the children leave, I miss you until you come back. I like having the mice here, because they keep me company even when everyone else has left, but they can't talk to me."

    Oh. Roberta opened her mouth and didn't know what to say. Did he mean it? What did meaning it mean, to Fred? He was programmed to sound empathetic; he couldn't really feel pain, could he? Why would anyone program an AI to get lonely? That would be both useless and cruel. She knew she should say, "I miss you too," but she couldn't. She hardly ever thought about Fred when she wasn't here. But she had to say something, didn't she?

    Maybe not. "You must miss your partner very much, Roberta. I'm sorry. How can I help you? What do you need from me?"

    She took a deep breath. "I—if I could stay here for a few hours, Fred, that would mean a lot."

    "Of course, Roberta."

    "And I'm hungry. Do you think it would be okay if I ate some of the kids' snacks? I'll replace them, I promise. I'll go shopping tomorrow after work."

    "Of course, Roberta. You need to eat. Maybe you should drink some warm milk."

    "Yes," she said. "That's a good idea. I'm cold. Warm milk would be very nice. Thank you."

    She made herself warm milk, and drank it with some graham crackers and peanut butter, and felt herself sinking into leaden exhaustion. "Fred," she said, "do you think it would be okay if I took a nap here? I can't go back home for a few hours, and I'm really tired."