The Good Atheist (17 page)

“We missed you at breakfast,” he said as he placed the last bag into the trunk.

“I’ve been busy cleaning up the cottage.”

“Well, hope to see you back soon,” he said with a friendly smile.

“Thanks.” I found his warmth touching. “I’d like that.”

He wiped his hands on his apron. “Well, I need to get back inside.” I think that was the first time a non-robot had helped me carry groceries out to the car. I remained next to my car, watching people pass on the sidewalk. All of them said hello, whether we had met before or not.

I took my cellphone out of my pocket and called Selene.

She answered on the first ring. “How is my long-lost husband?”

“I did try calling several times.”

“And just left messages.”

“It’s not my fault if you’re not picking up.”

“Your last message was two days ago. I’ve tried calling you back.”

“There’s no coverage at the cottage, remember? This is my first time into town since I last called.”

Dead air filled the cellular bandwidth between us.

“I’m fine, by the way,” I finally said.

“When are you coming back?”

I didn’t want to tell her about Paige and the real reason I needed to stay. “It’s hard to say. Not too much longer. I just need a few more days.”

“I thought you only took vacation for this week.”

“I’m going to call my boss and ask for a few more days.”

“What’s going on? What are you doing up there?”

“Nothing’s going on,” I said. I told her about all the work I’d been doing to fix the place up, hoping that would impress her. “We need to clean the place out, whether we sell or decide to keep it. But I need another few days to finish up.”

“What do you mean, whether we decide to keep it? Jack, there is no decision. I don’t want to keep that old place.”

“I want to talk about that when I get home, okay. I’ve got some ideas.”

“And when will that be?”

“Later next week.”

“You said you just needed a couple more days.”

“Yes, well, I might need a while longer. I’m still trying to turn up some more clues.”

“Jack, don’t you think you’re taking this a bit too far? He’s gone. You need to accept that.”

“That’s pretty cold, Selene.”

“It’s the truth. You are in line for promotion, remember? At least you were, if you haven’t already flushed it down the toilet. Do you think they’re still going to want to give it to you?”

“So what do you want me to do? Just drop everything, forget about my dad, go back to work and be a good boy? Hunker down and behave myself, and pretend like none of this happened?”

“It’s the sensible thing to do. What are you going to gain?”

“I’ll be back in a week,” I said, and disconnected abruptly. I’d hoped for more understanding concerning my father.

• • •

My next call was to my boss. I caught her on the treadmill. “Jack honey! We’ve missed you around here!” She had a deep throaty voice that always reminded me of a washed-up lounge singer who smoked too much.

“That’s nice to know. I’m sure the place is collapsing around your ears without me.”

She had a rasping laugh. “You know it. How’s vacation?”

“Good. Look, that’s what I’m calling about. I need a few more days.”

My words were met by silence, and I could feel her annoyance seeping through the phone.

“I thought we had a deal.”

“We do. But my promise was to work all the overtime necessary to get caught up - not on a specific date when I returned.”

“If we let this slide it will be too late. No amount of overtime will be enough to catch up.”

“We’re still good,” I said. “I’ll get back next week. There’s still plenty of time.”

“What do you need the extra time for? Is there a problem in paradise?”

“No, just a big mess.” I painted for her a tale of woe concerning the condition of the cottage and the amount of work needed to whip it into shape. “I’ve easily got enough banked hours.”

“I’ll check with HR, but for now I’ll take your word for it.”

“Come on, Sandra. You know I do. I haven’t taken a day off in two years.”

“All right already. I’ve heard the speech before. But we’ve got deadlines.”

“There are always deadlines.”

“Yes, but my butt is really on the line with this one.” She said that with each one. The fate of the free world hung in the balance with every project.

“Correction. It’s my butt that’s on the line. I’m the project manager, remember. You get the credit when things go well, and I get the crap when it doesn’t.”

She laughed again. “That’s the way of the world, Jack.” There was a moment’s pause, then: “Okay, one more week. But I got to have you back by then. No more extensions.”

She disconnected.

My next stop was Collin’s hardware store. The roof of the shed was covered in patches of green moss, and a lot of the tiles were cracking and curling up at the corners. I’d also found evidence of water leaking through inside. I decided to put a new roof on the shed. It would get me out of the house and give me something to do while waiting for whoever it was to pick up Paige. I arranged to have enough new shingles and plywood delivered to the cottage later that afternoon, which gave me enough time to get back and get Paige and the kids safely out of sight.

Paige helped me carry the groceries inside when I got back to the cottage. The delivery truck came by later, while Paige kept the kids inside with the curtains drawn. The driver, who also happened to be Collin, helped me stack the packages of shingles and plywood neatly inside the garage and then left.

I was actually looking forward to the work. I’d been cooped up in the cottage for several days, and was sick of reading and sorting through old books. My grandfather had every tool imaginable in his shed, and I had no trouble finding a hammer and a roofing shovel. I got out a ladder and climbed up onto the roof, and got to work scraping and pulling the old shingles off. Paige and the kids raked and bagged old leaves in the yard.

A couple hours later I was still on the roof, enjoying the physical activity and the fresh air, when Paige came over and stood below me, squinting up at me while shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand. “Excuse me, Jack.”

“Yes?”

“We’ve finished raking the leaves. What would you like us to do now?”

Dozens of bags of leaves were stacked against the back of the garage. Paige was no lay-about, and I was coming to appreciate that quality in her. But the arrival of the delivery truck made me think of something that had not occurred to me before. “I think you and the kids need to stay inside and out of sight.”

“There’s no one around for miles.”

“Yes, but my grandfather knew a lot of people, and there’s interest in town with my arrival. We could have unexpected visitors dropping by. I don’t want to take any chances.”

“I see. All right, I can keep busy inside. It’s about time to start dinner anyway.”

Her comment surprised me. “It’s only four.”

“Yes, but with that ancient stove, I need to cook old-fashioned. It takes at least an hour to make something decent from scratch.”

I liked to cook, but I wondered how anyone had time for anything else but to cook and clean before the arrival of smart stoves and smart packaging.

“Dinner will be at six. I’ll call you when it’s ready,” she said. Then she turned and headed towards the house, kids in tow. I watched her walk inside. Things were starting to get entirely too domestic between us. The sooner her ride arrived, the better.

• • •

I spent the rest of the afternoon on the roof. The old shingles came off easily enough using the roofing shovel. As I pried them off, they would slide down the slope of the roof and fall to the ground. It would take another day of hard work to get all the old shingles off, and then another half day to pick them up from the ground around the shed. Around six Paige came out onto the porch and called me in for supper. I climbed down off the roof, thankful to call it quits. Long-neglected muscles screamed in protest at the abuse they’d received all afternoon, and I ached all over.

But I’d done some thinking while up on the roof and arrived at a decision. We were standing in the kitchen cleaning up after dinner. She’d cooked a delicious meal of coated chicken breasts and potatoes. Her ride did not show up. It was clear that something was wrong.

“I’m going to drive into town tonight to talk to someone I think can help us,” I said.

Her eyes weighed me in the balance. “What kind of help?”

“Someplace where you can stay until your rides shows.”

“What makes you think this person can help?”

“Well, it’s unlikely my grandfather managed his underground activities all by himself, without any of his close friends knowing. There’s a very good chance that some of his friends were involved with him, and can contact the underground for us.”

“I see.”

“Look, you really can’t stay here much longer. I need to get back home while I still have a job and a wife to get back to. I can’t sit around here for who knows how long waiting for our mystery guest to come get you. It’s been two days now and there’s no telling how much longer it will be. I need to do something.”

Paige glanced into the living room where Micah and Amanda played retro Monopoly. We could see them on the floor from the kitchen where we stood. I’d found some old board games in a closet that Grandpa had kept on hand. With no internet, halo-vision or computer games there wasn’t much for kids to do. Evidently he was used to harboring fugitives with children in tow.

She kept wiping dishes. “You don’t need to explain yourself, Jack. You’ve already been more than generous.”

“My grandfather knew a lot of people. I’ve met some of them already, and they’re Christians – uh – like you. At least most of them are. They may know what to do. They may even know how to contact the underground. It’s a shot, anyway.”

She put plates away in the cupboards. “Sure.” If she was worried, it didn’t show.

When we finished cleaning up I drove into town to find the one person I felt sure would be able to help me with Paige.

12

The sun was down and the streetlights on. I found Jorge’s home, using the directions he had given me at breakfast the other day. It was on a quiet side street a few blocks from downtown. But then everything in this small town was located within a few blocks of downtown.

I parked on the street in front of his house. Lights were on and the curtains drawn closed, but it looked like someone was home. I walked up the sidewalk, hoping I wasn’t making a mistake, and stood on the porch in front of the door. The house avatar would have already got my name from the chip in my finger and notified Jorge that I was there. I waited, and a moment later a voice intoned from a brass grill on the wall next to the door. “Jorge will be right with you, Mister Callaghan.”

A moment later the door swung open. Jorge stood in front of me wearing blue jeans and a black turtleneck sweater. “This is a surprise.”

“Jorge, I’m sorry to interrupt your evening, but I need your help with something.”

He stepped aside and waved me in. His house was small but tastefully appointed. The furniture was modern looking and the décor had been recently updated. The hallway was lined with framed photographs of what I assumed to be family. Most of the photographs featured a woman and three children. There was a wedding photograph of a younger version of Jorge with the same woman.

I wondered what had happened to her, and where the children were. He led me into the living room and indicated the couch. “Please, have a seat.” He sat a recliner across from me. “What’s on your mind?”

“You were one of my grandfather’s best friends,” I said. It was more of a statement than a question.

He nodded. “Yes. I knew him for almost twenty years. We were as good friends as friends can be, I would suppose.”

“I need your help with something and I’m not sure where else to turn.”

“Your grandfather would have done anything for me. We went through a lot together. If you’re in some kind of trouble, I’ll do what I can.”

“It’s not me that’s in trouble,” I said. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “I’ve just found out in the past couple of days that my grandfather was involved with something. Something illegal.”

He didn’t look surprised. “Illegal maybe, but I’m sure not immoral. Times like these can turn good men into criminals just trying to do the right thing. What is it you think he was involved with?” His tone was guarded but not shocked.

I hesitated. It was a gamble. If I guessed wrong, then I would be exposing the whole thing to someone who knew nothing about it, and there was a risk that it would get out. But Jorge was a Christian, and a long-time friend of Grandpa’s. Even if he had not known about Grandpa’s underground connections, I didn’t think it was likely he would go to the police with the information I was about to give him. I figured the odds were in my favor.

I had to trust someone. It was time to roll the dice. “I think he was involved in some kind of underground railway that get people wanted by the Tolerance Police into Canada.”

I watched him carefully for a reaction. He didn’t flinch, and never took his eyes off me. “How did you come to suspect this?”

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“Let’s just say you’ve come to the right place. Now, tell me what’s going on.”

I told him about Paige. “I’m not sure what to do,” I said when I finished my story. “She can’t stay at my place, she can’t go home, and I don’t know how to contact her underground friends. I’m taking a risk coming to you, I realize, but it seems to me that if anyone knew about my grandfather’s underground contacts and how to reach them, you would.”

He stood up suddenly and paced the floor, eyebrows knitted together while he scratched the whiskers on his chin. “Seems like they didn’t get the word.”

“Who?”

“Ben died suddenly. I guess the word didn’t get to the right people in time.”

“So my grandfather really was involved with the underground?”

Jorge stopped his pacing and looked at me. “His cottage was used as a safe house.”