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By Root 342 0

. . Where was I? It was . . . Oh that’s right! At the bakery, when the man came back. The man from the alley! And my husband, Irving—he wasn’t my husband at the time—he was talking to my father. Neither of them was paying attention when the man came in. He wasn’t wearing the hat this time. He had on a T-shirt that showed off his muscles. I think that’s what he was trying to do. He kept his eyes down. He gave me his order. I can’t remember what it was—his order. Finally, when he was paying, he looked at me. I said, quietly, “I can’t get it right now.” I guess I didn’t say it that quietly because I heard my father say: “Just give the man his change.” I got the change, and when I did so, I wrote on a piece of paper: “It’s hidden. I can’t get it right now.” I slid the man the piece of paper and he looked at it for a long time. Then he looked in the direction of my father and Irving. They were locked in conversation, and the man nodded. He took his change, and he turned around and left. I noticed that he was wearing boots, which surprised me. It was summer, and he was wearing thick work boots. He walked out the door.

DO YOU WANT TO CONTINUE?

I slipped out the back door, and I ran around the front. I saw the man walking down the street. I started to follow him. Why? I’ve always wondered why, and then I think about the boots. Worn, and cracked, and leather like a beautiful reptile sitting on a rock, sun-baked. Dirty, too. This was a man . . . His boots were—they were adventurous, sexy, and dangerous. So I followed him. I was going to find out what happened. He had boots and I had this silly schoolgirl dress, and my imagination, and I . . . I . . .

YOU HAVEN’T SPOKEN FOR MORE THAN A MINUTE. ARE YOU STILL THERE?

I can’t believe that I forgot her name. She’s been my suite-mate for . . . for I don’t know how long. I can’t remember how long I’ve been sleeping in the room next to hers. Victoria. I . . . it’s going so suddenly. It’s supposed to be gradual. I . . . I’m Lane Idle.

DID YOU SAY YOU’RE HAVING TROUBLE REMEMBERING?

That’s what I said. That’s what I said. That’s what I said!

YOU HAVEN’T SAID ANYTHING FOR MORE THAN A MINUTE. WOULD YOU LIKE TO CONTINUE?

Chapter 23

HUMAN MEMORY CRUSADE INTERNAL REPORT.

JUNE 7, 2010

Subject: Lane Idle.

Priority: One.

Possible Wildfire.

Chapter 24

Grandma’s fallen unresponsive.

We are en route from the dental offices to meet Betty Lou, Grandma’s old friend and fellow Bifocal Yokel. As we drive, I marvel again in silence about what I’ve learned in just the last three hours. I turn the revelations over and back again. Lulu Adrianna Pederson works for the titanic Biogen. She asks to meet me, but doesn’t show up, and a young man tells me that Adrianna hasn’t been around for a few days. Meantime, Grandma is screaming “Adrianna can’t breathe.” Has something happened to Adrianna? If so, how could Grandma know about it?

And Grandma is exhibiting strange symptoms. Her mental decline has been precipitous. But her physical abilities and strength remain intact. Did I correctly understand her neurologist was suggesting that her decline could conceivably be due to trauma? What trauma? Adrianna-related? Something at Magnolia Manor? Is Vince mixed up in it?

“And what do I make of the disappearing dental offices?” I say aloud. “I know the economy’s rough. But businesses just don’t go poof within a few hours. I’ll tell you what I think: I think that someone’s spooked that we’re investigating and wants to make sure they leave behind no evidence. What do you think, Grandma?”

“Twelve Angry Men.”

“What?”

“I love the way they figured out the evidence in that movie.”

What went on at the dental offices? How often did Grandma visit? In the morning, I can check with the surrounding businesses and see what they know. Betty Lou may have some insights.

“Idea,” I say.

“What?”

“Earlier in the day, I saw a guy leave the dental offices. A little man who belongs to a Khe Sahn veteran’s group. Bad attitude and skin. We should follow up with that.”

“It’s nice to see you happy, Nathaniel.”

My cell