“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I did.”
“I thought you probably had, but she’s awful about things like that. I mean, if you dream about a fish that waltzes like your aunt, she writes it down. But addresses and phone numbers are too mundane.”
He said, “I still love you.”
There was a pause, a silence so long it seemed apt to last forever.
At last Lara said, “I was going to say I went out to dinner when I left the office. With somebody. Somebody took me out to dinner.”
“That’s okay.”
“The thing is, you’ve got your regular session with Dr. Nilson on Tuesday.”
“Yes,” he said.
“And she has a chance to pick up a little consulting job. You know she doesn’t make much at the Center.”
“Yes,” he said again.
“Do you feel you could skip this week? Would you want to, and would you be willing to do that as a favor to Dr. Nilson?”
“No,” he said.
“The other possibility would be if you were able to come in tomorrow. Pretty often someone cancels, and even if they don’t, I could probably squeeze you in.”
“You’ll be there?” He found he was looking at Tina while thinking of Lara. That was why he had bought Tina, of course—because she reminded him of Lara; but she was not Lara. Lora was Lara.
“I know you must be wondering why I’m back with Dr. Nilson after being gone for so long. I’ve been married and divorced. I get alimony and child support now, and I thought of this job. It doesn’t pay a lot, but it was the best job I’d ever had, the only one I ever had that I really liked, and I knew if I had to take Missy to the doctor or something, Dr. Nilson would let me off, there wouldn’t be any trouble about it.”
He hesitated, irresolute among the thousands of things he wanted to say to her, the hundreds of questions he needed to ask. In some weak way he held power for the moment, and it was supremely important he not squander it. Slowly and carefully he said, “If I come tomorrow, I’ll be counting on you to get me in to see her. I want to know beyond a doubt that you’ll be there, Lara.”
“I’ll definitely be there. Can you come after lunch? One o’clock?”
He found that he was holding his handkerchief—that he had crushed it into a sodden ball. He said, “The best way for you to make certain I’ll be there at one would be to let me take you to lunch. I’d like very much to do that.”
Another pause, shorter this time but still long. “Suppose I were to tell you I had to see Missy at the day-care center?”
“I’d like to go with you. I’d like to see Missy, too.” He glanced at Tina. “I might even have a present for her.”
“I don’t, not really.” A brief pause. “Not till I get off work tonight.”
“You go to lunch at—”
“Noon.”
“I’ll be there at eleven forty-five,” he said.
“Fine. Thank you, Mr. Green. Goodbye.”
There was a gentle, final click.
I should have found out where she’s living, he thought; and then, She wouldn’t have told the truth.
Tina asked, “Are you going to give me to a little girl? Doesn’t she have a doll already?”
“I don’t know,” he told her. “But don’t worry. I don’t think this little girl really exists. If she has a doll, it probably isn’t real either.”
He hung up the phone, went to the crate, and took the edge of the middle board in both hands. It felt as though it were cutting his palms, then as though his shirt—no, the muscles of his back were tearing, ripping themselves to shreds of effort and pain. Nails started to give, protesting like mice as they were drawn from their holes, the last surrendering with a jerk that nearly sent him flying backward.
Tina whistled like a tiny teakettle. “I didn’t know you were so strong.”
“Neither did I,” he admitted. He peered through the wider opening he had made. The object within looked rough and nearly black.
“Are you going to pull them all off?”
He shook his head. “I had that one in me. I don’t think there are any more.”
“Don’t lay it down like that,” Tina advised him. “You’ll step on a nail. Stand it up against the wall.”
“You’re right,” he said.
“Where are you going?”
“To the kitchen. I’ve got a screwdriver in there.”
“I want to show you something first. Will you come over here?”
He sat down on the sofa beside her.
“I’m going to do magic. Put your hand in here.” Here was the pocket of his overcoat. “What do you feel?”
“Nothing,” he said. “It’s empty.”
She raised one tiny arm dramatically. “Now watch as the Amazing Tina goes inside for a minute!” She crawled headfirst into the pocket as a full-sized girl might have dived beneath the covers of a bed. A moment after her feet had disappeared, she was climbing out again. “Now put your hand in.”
He did, and drew out a thin packet of bills. Tina laughed and clapped.
“How did you do that?”
“Well, you couldn’t put me in another drawer because you were talking. And I knew after that you’d want to look at the magic mail. Me, too.”
“Magic mail?”
“Yes,” Tina told him firmly. “Magic mail. But never mind, there wasn’t a lot for me to do, and your coat was lying here on the sofa.”
As patiently as he could, he asked, “But why was the pocket empty the first time I put my hand in it?”
“Open it and look at it under the light, and you’ll see.”
He did, sliding to the end of the sofa next to the table lamp, putting the coat on his lap, and turning the three-way bulb to its maximum brightness. A thin panel of fabric, of the same material as the lining of the pocket, divided it into two chambers.
“It’s a double pocket,” Tina told him delightedly. “Only the middle thing had gotten pushed up underneath the flap. When I got in, I could feel the money on the other side, so I looked to see what it was.”
He nodded slowly. “I should have felt it myself.”
“You were looking for something at the bottom, probably, not off to one side.”
He nodded again. “Thank you, Tina.”
“Is that the money?”
“It must be.” The packet was secured with a rubber band, now gone weak. He pulled it off and tossed it toward the waste basket before looking at the bills. There were five hundreds, three fifties, a ten, and two singles, all quite similar to the designs with which he was familiar, but all bearing the faces of women. He had a fifty in his wallet; he got it out and compared it to the ones from the packet. Neither the scrollwork nor the style of the lettering was precisely the same. The fifty with Grant’s picture read FEDERAL RESERVE NOTE. The fifties from the packet said GOLD CERTIFICATE REDEEMABLE FOR FACE VALUE.
He laid the money down, struck by a thought. “Tina, you could go inside that crate just like you went into my pocket.”
She looked at the crate dubiously. “I guess I could.”
“Of course you could. It might have been a little tight before I pulled off that slat, but now there’s a big space.”
“All right,” Tina said, suddenly decisive. “Lift me up.”
He returned the Grant fifty to his wallet, put the rest of the bills on the end table, and stood Tina on the board beside the opening. She said, “It’s awfully dark in there. Have you got a little flashlight or something I could use?”
“I don’t think so, but I can move the lamp so it shines into there.”
She nodded. “I think you’d better.”
He did, noting as she lowered herself into the opening that her skin was smooth plastic. She’s just a mechanical doll, he thought. I’ve been playing with a programmed doll.
Yet he missed her as soon as she was out of sight.
Tina’s Secret Fort
Tina might tell him what was in the crate; but he would have to open it himself, unless he wanted to wait until tomorrow evening and have the custodian do it. That would be the sensible thing, certainly.