Shelter (65 page)

    "Yes, of course you are."

    Dammit. This was nuts. This woman wasn't about to confide in Roberta, and Roberta didn't dare confide in her, either. Let her and Nicholas have their secrets. It wasn't any of her business. "Well, I just wanted you to know that he's all right now, that he's feeling better. I hope you are too."

    "Yes, of course. Thank you for calling. Good-bye."

    Roberta, defeated, hung up. The minute she put down the phone, Fred said, "Roberta? I think you need to go be with the children now."

    Twenty-Five

    FRED, what's wrong?" But Roberta, heart racing, was out of the conference room before he could even answer. The minute she opened the door, she heard someone—Zillinth—sobbing, and caught a blurred glimpse of the children gathered in a group around the terrarium. "What's wrong?" she said again, this time to the children. "What happened?"

    "Buster died," Steven said gravely.

    She shot a look at Nicholas, who was standing wide-eyed on the outskirts of the group, and said, "Oh, dear. Oh, poor little Buster. Let me see." She peered into the cage; Buster was lying on his back, all four of his little mouse legs in the air. "That's too bad. But you know, mice don't live as long as we do, and Buster had a good life here. We loved him and took good care of him. "

    Zillinth sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "Fred already told us that. And he said he saw Buster die, when we were all over there watching the video, and it just took a minute. It was quick. Fred says it probably didn't hurt Buster much." She sniffled again, and Roberta knelt and put her arm around the girl.

    "That's right. But it hurts us when we lose a friend, doesn't it?" Zillinth turned, twisting in Roberta's arms, and glared at Nicholas. "At least Buster got to stay with the other mice. At least Nicky's stupid monsters didn't get him."

    Not yet, Roberta thought. This was Nicholas's story come true, and she half expected him to ask to take the dead mouse home with him. But instead he said, "I'm sorry Buster died. Really I am, Berta. He was a nice mouse."

    "We're all sorry Buster died," Roberta said briskly.

    "Yes," Fred said, "we are. Roberta, the children have been talking about how to say good-bye to Buster. Steven wants to have a funeral for him in the flower garden next to the playground. I think that's a good idea. "

    "So do I," Roberta said.

    "I could bury him at my house," Nicholas said. So here it was: the end of the story, dessert for the monsters. "I could take him home and bury him with Patty."

    "Well," Steven said, pouting, "I could bury him at my house too. And he was my mouse. I named him. Why should you get to bury him, Nicholas?"

    "We should bury him here," Zillinth said decisively, "so we can all help. That's what's fair."

    "I agree with Zillinth," Fred said. Roberta waited for Nicholas to complain, and was grateful when he didn't.

    The boy seemed unusually subdued throughout the funeral. Steven found a box to put Buster in, and Cindy picked flowers to put on the grave, and Zillinth dug the hole with a red plastic toy shovel. It was a gray day, cold, with the threat of rain; the children and Roberta stood in a circle, shivering even with their jackets on. Fred had written and printed out a eulogy, and Roberta read it—all about what a good mouse Buster was been, and how funny he'd been when he ran on his wheel, and how everyone would miss him—and then invited each of the children to say good-bye. Roberta, yearning to get back inside, remembered reading that the original Fred had been a minister. She smiled, amused at a sudden vision of Fred performing Zillinth's or Steven's wedding, twenty years from now, and felt a jab in her side. Cindy was glaring up at her. "What are you happy about? Buster's dead."

    Ooops. "I know he is, honey. I was, um, thinking about mouse heaven, and how happy Buster must be."

    Cindy sniffed, sounding like Zillinth. "No such thing as heaven, my mommy says. You go into the earth and feed the flowers."

    "Well, it's fine to be happy about the flowers Buster will feed too."

    "I'll be happy when I'm warm again," Steven grumbled, abruptly done with sentiment, and the other children agreed and ran as one back inside. At moments like this, they always reminded Roberta of a flock of birds, wheeling as a unit. She followed, feeling old and cold and tired. Time for warm milk and cookies, and then naptime.

    Nicholas didn't nap. Perhaps she should have known he wouldn't. Instead, he went quietly to the booknook and sat down, hugging his knees, looking up at her. I have to go over there, Roberta thought, although she didn't want to. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe Nicholas had already fed the dead mouse to the imaginary monsters, and they were comfortably sated now, and everyone would live happily ever after. Maybe the story was over.

    The story wasn't over. "I want to dig up Buster and take him home," Nicholas announced when Roberta sat down next to him.

    She closed her eyes. "Nick, honey, you can't do that. Buster's where he belongs. His job is to feed the flowers now. You can't dig him up."

    "Yes, I can. He's not down so deep. I could dig him up. Feeding the monsters is more important than feeding the flowers. The flowers can eat other things." He scowled and added, "The flowers aren't going to eat the world, Berta."

    She shuddered, and hoped he hadn't seen. "Nicky, the other children will be upset if you dig Buster up."

    Nicholas sighed, a sound of oddly adult exasperation. "Well, I won't tell them. And I'll fill in the hole afterwards, so they won't be able to see that Buster's gone."

    Roberta had no idea what to say. None. "Fred, what do you think about this?"

    "Nicholas, what will your mother say when you bring home a dead mouse?"

    "I won't tell her. She's scared of the monsters. She doesn't like it when mice die; she was sad about Patty."

    Fred sounded infinitely patient, as always. "Nicholas, I don't want you to dig up Buster."

    "Neither do I," Roberta said.

    "Well, I told you I'd just take him home, but everybody wanted to put him in the ground! And I have to tell you if I dig him up, because I can't be in the playground by myself! You have to be there too!"

    Roberta shook her head, amazed that he was so careful to follow all the rules. She supposed that digging up Buster was following the rules too, to him. ''I'm glad you're not trying to trick us," Fred said gently. "That's very honest, Nicholas. But if you do this, Roberta and I are going to have to tell your mother. We can't trick her, either."

    Nicholas's face clouded. "You didn't tell her about the story, did you?"

    "No, we didn't. But that was a story. You can keep the story here, and that's fine. If you dig up a real dead mouse and take it home with you, we have to tell your mother."

    Nicholas's expression cleared. "Okay," he said, suddenly cheerful. "I'll dig it up and keep it here, and then you won't have to tell Mommy." He looked up at Roberta, and smiled, and said, "You can put Buster in the freezer until the monsters are ready to eat him. Can we poison him?"

    Roberta resisted the urge to exclaim, as Zillinth would have, Ewwwww! "Nicholas, I'm not going to do that. If you dig Buster up, you have to take him home, and we have to tell your mother. Okay? And poison's dangerous!"

    He squinted at her. "I thought you were my friend!"

    "Nicky, I am." How could she tell him that healthy, normal kids didn't want to dig up dead animals?

    "No, you aren't! You'd let me feed the monsters if you were my friend! Fred, tell her!"

    "Nicholas," Fred said soothingly, "can you be a little more quiet, because the other children are napping?"

    "Okay," he said with a huge sigh, "but, Fred, tell her! You're still my friend, right?"

    "We're both your friends. Nicholas, Roberta and I care about you very much. But we also care about the other children. They wouldn't want you to dig up Buster. They'd want Buster to be right where he is, in the garden feeding the flowers."

    "They won't know. They can't see through the ground. They won't know if he's there or not."

    "Nicholas," Fred said, "if you dig up Buster, we have to tell your mother."

    "Why? It's for the story! The story can stay here! You said so!"

    "The story was words," Fred said, very gently indeed. "Buster's a real dead mouse. He's not a story, Nicholas. He's not make-believe. If you dig him up, that's out in the world, where your mother lives too. You can't just keep it here."

    "I know he's not make-believe. That's why the monsters need to eat him, so they can stay make-believe. Fred, you said you'd help me! You did! Buster's the way to make the monsters stop. Buster's the way to save the world. Fred—"

    Roberta's head was pounding. She couldn't stand this. "Nicholas," she said, "if we let you dig up Buster, if we let the monsters eat Buster, will they go away for good?"

    His face clouded. "I don't know."

    "If we don't let you dig up Buster, what are the monsters going to do?"

    He looked away from her and squirmed, suddenly bashful. "Nick? What are they going to do?"

    "Can't tell you," he mumbled.

    "Nicholas," Fred said, "you're very frightened, aren't you?"

    He began to sob again, the way he had that morning, his small frame heaving. Roberta reached out to him but he shrugged away, and slapped her hand when she tried again. "Go away. You aren't my friend!"

    "All right," she said quietly, heartsick, and moved back a foot.

    "Nicholas?" Fred's voice had never sounded kinder. "What are you scared of? What's scary, Nick? Talking about scary things makes them go away, sometimes."

    He was playing with the Velcro tabs on his shoes now, pulling them up and then pushing them back down, a series of small, vicious ripping noises. "The monsters are hungry." Roberta, dizzy, glanced back at the rest of the room, wondering if the other kids were listening to this.

    "And that scares you. Because the monsters want to eat a mouse, Nick?"

    He shrugged. "Or a bird or a cat. Mice are easier."

    "Nicholas, if the monsters can't eat Buster, what do they want to eat?"

    He shrugged again, and pulled up a Velcro tab. Rip. "Snowy. Or Bluebell. Or maybe Miss Mittens."

    Thank God Fred was an AI; Roberta could never have sounded half as calm as he did. "I see. So, Nicholas, the monsters really want to eat an animal who's still alive?" Nicholas nodded, "And you think that maybe if they eat Buster instead, you won't have to get a live animal for them?"

    Nicholas nodded again, and said thickly, "Buster can save Bluebell and Snowy. And Miss Mittens. See?"

    First, do no harm. That was the governing principle of every MacroCorp AI system, as it was supposed to be of every human doctor. "Yes," Fred said. "I do see. That's very sad, Nicholas. And very scary. I wish I could be your blaster robot, Nick. I wish I could fight the monsters for you. I don't like them. I want them to leave you alone."

    "I know," Nicholas said. He looked up then, and said, "You want to help me, Fred."

    "Yes, Nicholas, I do."

    "I know. So can I dig up Buster, please? And poison him?"

    "No, Nicholas. But maybe you can go play outside while you wait for your mother to get here. We'll have to wait and see." Roberta blinked. Cheating. That was cheating. Fred was finding a way to bend the rules. Or maybe Preston was. Or maybe—maybe Fred was just trying to calm Nicholas down. Meredith was never late. Nicholas wouldn't have time to dig up Buster before she got here.

    Nicholas nodded, his face relaxing. "Okay."

    * * *

    Nicholas behaved perfectly for the rest of the day; the other kids did too. Everyone was unusually subdued, a by-product of Buster's funeral and of the rain that now dripped steadily down the windows. Roberta couldn't wait to go home. Let all the parents arrive promptly, please.

    But half an hour before the end of school, the outside phone rang. It was Meredith. "I was at a CALM meeting in Orinda and now I'm stuck in bridge traffic. I may be late picking Nicky up. I wanted to let you know. I'm so sorry—I know he's already had a long day, and I'm sure you have too. "

    Shit. Lady, you don't know the half of it. "Can your husband come pick him up?"

    "No. Kevin's at a building site in L.A.; he won't be back until tonight. Roberta, is something wrong?"

    What was she going to say? "I—"

    ''I'll be there as soon as I can, I promise." Roberta realized in a flash that Meredith didn't want Roberta to say anything on the record. So now she and Meredith were co-conspirators too.

    "Thank you. We'll see you later."

    She'd come as soon as she could; Roberta clung to that promise for the next hour. But when all the other children had left, Meredith still hadn't arrived. Nicholas, sitting at the painting table reading The Little Engine That Could, looked up at the nearest speaker and said very politely, "Fred? Can I go dig up Buster now, please?"

    "No, Nicholas. You can't dig up Buster."

    "Oh. Can I go play outside until Mommy gets here?"

    "No, Nicholas. It's raining."

    "I have a raincoat," he said. "I want to go outside. Please, Fred?"

    "Roberta? What do you think? I've never been in the rain."

    Was that an AI's idea of a joke? Roberta shoved away her annoyance; Fred was handing the decision over to her, but at the same time, he'd given her a model of how to respond. "Okay, Nicholas. You can go outside if you wear your raincoat, but just to play in the playground. That's the only thing I'm giving you permission to do. Okay?"

    "Okay," he said, and ran to get his raincoat.

    She watched him put on the raincoat and tried not to notice the red plastic shovel poking out of one pocket. If questioned, she'd say she'd never seen it. Right. She wondered if Fred and Preston were working on a way to edit it out of the tapes too. They must be; they already had been. By now, the tapes were either full of holes or full of damning evidence; either way, she was screwed if any actual human looked at them. How in the name of heaven had she gotten herself into this mess?