I sensed she was angry, but, unable to read tone, I felt unmoored. "My stepfather was killed seventeen years ago. I think she may know something about it."
A lie, based on what Glenda had told me at the door. It occurred to me that Harriet had agreed to see me only so she could find out what I was up to and notify Tris.
I cleared my throat. "Do you know where she is? I'd really like to talk to her."
Her muscles moved in fleeting twitches just beneath the papery skin. WE ARE NOT IN TOUCH.
"It's not only for me," I said. "I need to warn her about something." Those blank eyes stared back at me. "I think she might want to talk to me, too."
A long wait as that finger pulsed against the bud. And then, YOU
"I understand more than you realize."
Harriet's blinks were getting longer. She was having trouble holding her eyes open.
"Can I leave you my phone number to give her if she does contact you?"
Beyond her dry lips, her tongue worked, her jaw clicking with agitation. A spider thread of drool reached down and touched her shirt. YOU CAN DO WHATEVER YOU LIKE.
Her eyes closed and didn't open. Her hand slipped from the keyboard and she shifted slightly, her other arm sliding from the mattress again so the hand and forearm dangled over the edge. I couldn't tell if one of the tubes snaking through the sheets was feeding her air, but the rise and fall of her chest seemed to grow more regular. For a time I studied that cord running from her computer to the digital telephone, my heart pounding. Then I eased to her bedside.
The computer of course had a massively simplified interface. I touched the tiny bud, nudging the cursor over to the address book icon. Scrolling down, I looked under the L's. A few Landreth names I didn't recognize. I was disgusted with myself, breathing hard and trying to be quiet. I was terrified that Harriet would rouse and stare up at me with accusing eyes, and I would have not a single thing to say for myself. I searched farther down and found a single initial, T. And a phone number. Pulling a pen from the nightstand, I jotted it down on the back of my hand. Using a reverse directory, Induma could generate an address in seconds.
Harriet's breathing took on a slight wheeze. I started for the door but stopped after a few steps. I walked around to the other side of the bed and lifted her dangling arm. It was unbelievably light, like the wing of a seagull. I laid it gently by her side and tucked the sheet around it.
In the front room, Glenda sat dwarfed in an armchair, watching a dog with its head stuck in a red plastic bucket.
"She doesn't have long now." Glenda kept her eyes on the TV.
"Maybe Tris'll make it back to see her."
She scoffed.
Outside, the breeze was hot and smelled sharply of vegetation. I paused on the manicured front lawn, grateful for the openness, the shoved-down horizons, the bobbing palm trees. My chest felt tight and full, like I couldn't get enough air into it.
I stood there a few minutes, just breathing.