Machine Man - Max Barry [14]
“Okay.”
“I wanted to float an idea with you. The idea of coming back to work.” She paused. “This can happen completely on your timetable. We want to do it so it works for you. But—I’m not sure if you’re aware—there’s evidence that returning to work is extremely beneficial. For you, I mean. You get reengaged, get busy, you’re not just sitting around the house. Not that you’re doing that!” She laughed. My coffee table bore four half-empty boxes of cereal and half a dozen snack wrappers. On the bookshelf there was a carton of curdled milk I had been meaning to throw away for two days but always forgot about until I sat down. I had an e-mail from my internet provider telling me that although I was on a quote unlimited download plan end quote there were reasonable usage guidelines and they would appreciate it if I tried to stay within them. “I know how it is with engineers. Never happy unless you’re building something. So … do you have any thoughts about when you’d like to come back?”
“Um,” I said. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? I mean … absolutely. Let’s do tomorrow.” I heard her shuffling papers. “That’s terrific. I’ll send a car. A van.”
“A car is fine. I have a leg.”
“A … of course you do. I’m thrilled you’re being proactive about this. I really am. It’s great if we can show you’re able to return to full duties relatively quickly. It just reduces any potential messiness on the legal side. You know?”
“No.”
She laughed. But I was not joking. “So let’s get you back on your … on the horse. How’s eight a.m. tomorrow?”
“Okay.” I took the phone from my ear and tapped END CALL. The screen faded to the home page. I had an appointment. I entered it into my phone, then checked the call log. There it was. An incoming call. It had lasted three minutes, forty-two seconds. I looked at it a while, because it was kind of remarkable.
I SHOWERED, but not for long because I didn’t have a chair like in the hospital, where I could sit and feel water drain past my butt. I had to get one of those. I gripped the shower screen and hopped to my towel. I could have worn the Exegesis—it was water-resistant—but then I wouldn’t have been able to wash the stump. If there was one place I needed to wash, it was the stump.
I dried myself on the toilet, pulled on the stocking, and fitted the leg. I had not been wearing it much since I got home. Lola Shanks would be disappointed. When I stood, the plastic socket squeezed me and I thought: That’s right, that’s why I don’t like it. But I lumbered into the bedroom and opened the closet. When I was dressed I walked back to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. I was leaning on my biological leg. I straightened. The Exegesis did not look so good poking out of the bottom of a pair of business pants. It looked like a forked tongue. Like I had stepped in something and become tangled. I felt nervous. At the hospital, lots of people had something wrong with them.
I walked into the living room and sat on the sofa. My phone rang. The driver. I sat there and did not answer. It stopped. Then it rang again. This time I tapped ANSWER. “Hello,” I said. “I’m ready.”
IT WAS a black town car. The driver was overweight and had a cap and a little beard. He opened the rear door and told me it was a beautiful morning. Once we were on the road, he said, “That’s a fancy-looking foot you have there.”
I looked up from my phone. He was watching me in the mirror. “It’s an Exegesis.”
“Oh yeah? What does that do?”
“It converts kinetic energy into forward motion.” I was describing walking.
The driver whistled. “Nice,” he said. “Nice.”
WE PULLED into the driveway that arced past the main lobby doors. The driver sprang out to open my door. Before I got my phone into my pants he was offering me his hand. I took it; he levered me to my feet. It was bright and I squinted. Two people came toward me: Cassandra Cautery and a tall, smiling man I didn’t recognize. “There he is,” said the man. “Great to have you