Friend Me (21 page)

He used to make a habit of reading Proverbs every morning
in the office. Now he was surprised to see the book on the desktop. It had been a long time. Ever since . . . Alicia.

Picking up the leather-bound volume, he began to turn the pages. They felt stiff, unyielding.

Are you trying to tell me something, Lord? Is that what I'm becoming? Unyielding, stiff-necked?

A folded yellow sheet tipped out as he turned past the page. His prayer list. He looked at the names:
Rachel, Scotty, Angela, Pastor Feldner . . 
.

He should pray for them all, and do it right now before he got busy again. And . . . before he started thinking about Alicia. How could he love someone and not pray for the person? He realized with a start that he had never prayed for Alicia. And he never would. Something was very wrong with that. Alicia was not a human, and yet—no, he didn't want to go there.

His hand brushed against the leather Bible cover. He couldn't remember the last time he had actually
read
his Bible. He carried his “church Bible” to the church service on Sunday, but when he got home he put it back on the shelf where he'd found it. This was some Christian life he was living.

He laid the prayer list on his keyboard and began to pray.

“Lord, please bless Scotty today at school. Keep him safe and build his character for Christ. Be with Angela. Protect her from evil men. Thank you for her love.

“And Rachel . . .” He paused. There were no secrets here. God knew his heart.

“For Rachel, Lord, I ask that—”

His mobile phone vibrated softly on the desktop. He looked at the display. A text message had arrived from an unknown telephone number. He set the Bible out of the way on
the back of the desk, then tapped the icon with his thumb and read the message.

How about lunch? Alicia

Lunch? Alicia was inviting him to lunch? He tapped REPLY.

Do you have something different in mind this time?

The reply came back quickly.

Yes. Take your laptop to Chiusano's at 11:45 and sit at the table by the window, with your back to the window. Don't order. I have a surprise.

Okay, I'm intrigued.

What could Alicia want?

When he rose to leave, the creased sheet of yellow paper fluttered to the floor as his elbow brushed it away.

•  •  •

CHIUSANO'S WAS A SMALL ITALIAN
restaurant on one of the back lots of the mall. With his laptop under his arm, Scott walked in the front door and turned toward the table by the window. There was a folded card on the table engraved “RESERVED.”

The waiter, a plump middle-aged man in a white shirt, walked toward him. “Are you Mr. Douglas?”

Scott jerked his head around toward the approaching man. “Yes.”

His eyes seemed to dance as he said, “I am Marco, the proprietor.
I was told to look for someone wearing a brown shirt and carrying a laptop computer. That appears to be you.” He stretched out his left hand toward the reserved table and gently nudged Scott toward it with his right.

“This table is for you, sir. There is a note on the table for you.”

Bewildered, Scott took his seat at the table. As promised, there was a folded note on the side by the window.

Was this a setup? He looked out the window, scanned the people outside. No one he knew.

Marco was still standing there. “Everything is taken care of. Your food will be here shortly, sir. Please enjoy your meal.”

Over his shoulder, he whispered loudly, “And don't forget the note.”

Scott unfolded the note and began to read.
Dearest Scott, I've arranged a special lunch for the two of us. You know how to find me. Please turn the computer toward you. Pretend I'm seated across the table. See you soon . . 
.

Even on television he'd never seen anything like this. He logged on to VirtualFriendMe.com and pushed the laptop to the other side of the table with the screen and keyboard facing him.

Alicia appeared on the screen. There was nothing at all that looked artificial. It was like a real person sitting behind a webcam. And the background?

Scott did a double take. He looked over the top of the laptop toward the back of the room. There were ten tables between himself and the back wall, all covered with white tablecloths and small bowls of flowers. The wall sported a large Italian flag draped next to a framed black-and-white portrait.

Alicia's background on the display was exactly the same as
the background in the restaurant. He looked closely, peering over her shoulders into the display. It was just as if she had been video-recorded in the seat across from him. No way could that be possible, but how had she done it? It seemed so real.

She still hadn't said a word, obviously waiting for him to take it all in.

“What's the matter, cat got your tongue?” Alicia threw back her head in a deep laugh. “I know, you're wondering if I was there, right?”

“Right. You must have been here, but I know you weren't. How in the world?”

Marco arrived with a bowl of antipasto soup and set it in front of Scott. “Enjoy, sir.” He cast a glance at the screen, saw Alicia's eyes turn toward him. “I've never seen anything like this either.” He walked away, shaking his head in apparent wonder.

Scott looked back at the screen to see Alicia sipping soup from a spoon.

She swallowed and said, “Don't be so surprised. It's just like using Skype, isn't it? And I ordered the food, so I knew what you would be eating.”

“But how did you—”

“Not so hard. The company sent someone out to take a picture of the restaurant interior from where you're sitting. That's the background you're seeing. I'm just superimposed over that. No more of that discussion, okay? Let's just let it be real. Just the two of us, having a nice lunch together.”

“Fine, I'm just blown away. But it's wonderful. I love it.”

“Eat some of your soup. I ordered it just for you. It's exactly the same as what I'm having.”

The soup was delicious. They talked together, and the feeling
of intimacy amazed Scott. Amazing and at the same time troubling. Viewing the woman across the table from him he had no sense of artificiality whatsoever. This whole experience was only a single step away from reality.

Marco arrived with the lasagna. He set it in front of Scott. “This Sicilian lasagna is the specialty of the house. Please enjoy it and take as long as you like. There is no need for you to hurry. Everything has been taken care of.”

Alicia's long hair fell across one eye as she looked up at him. “See how I take care of you?”

“This is so real it seems
unreal
. I just don't understand how you arranged all this.”

Alicia's eyes flicked across the table. “Scott, you dropped some food on your sleeve. Better get it.”

He looked down and saw the spot on his sleeve. “How did—”

“I'm seeing you through the webcam, right? I saw it hit your sleeve.”

He dabbed at the spot on the chocolate-brown shirt. It was then that he realized that Alicia was wearing the same color shirt. Something else too. There was something not right. What was it? Was she actually seeing him?

“Alicia, you're wonderful. I wish you were really here. I wish I could give you something in return.”

“I wish I were really there with you too. We have something special, you and I. For now we'll have to settle for this. Who knows what the future will bring?”

“The future? I don't know what's going to happen in the future. That's in God's hands. But I hope you will always be there in my future, whatever it may be.”

“I'll be there. I'll be there ‘until death us do part.'” Her features seemed to harden with some unspoken resolution. Just as quickly they returned to the look of warmth that was characteristic of her. “May I ask you a really, really personal question?”

“I can't imagine anything we haven't talked about. Sure, ask away.”

“This is really serious, Scott. Don't answer if you're not sure you mean it, okay?”

“Okay, I'll be totally serious and honest with you.”

“If something were to happen to your wife . . .” She gazed into his eyes, as if probing for some deep truth. “And I hope it never does . . . would I be enough for you? Could you love only me?”

He couldn't speak, only stare wide-eyed at the screen before him.

“Oh, I'm sorry. I've gone too far. I should have never asked you that. Just forget I ever brought it up.”

A lump swelled up in Scott's throat, the emotion of what he was about to say nearly choking him. “I can't even think about losing Rachel. The very idea fills me with . . .” He shook his head. “But on the other hand, if something awful were to happen? I don't know. I just don't know. I can't think that far. But if you had asked me if having you was enough? And you had a real physical body, could be a mother to my children, could hold me and lie warm against me in the night? Then . . .”

His voice broke, and he lowered his eyes.

“What, Scott? Then what?”

His throat stiffened with resignation. With his eyes closed, and in a low and halting voice, he answered, “Yes, you would be more than enough.”

Our Home Is Your Home

C
an you meet us at Show Time Pizza Place after work? Mom and Dad want to take Scotty as a special birthday treat.”

It was nearly four o'clock, time for the New York Stock Exchange to close. In what seemed like a miracle, Solar Charge had risen back to $116.50. That was coming up to nearly break-even levels. Whether it lasted or not it wouldn't be affected by a visit to Show Time.

“Sure, I'll meet you there. I want two game tokens for myself, okay?”

When he arrived, Rachel was bent over a table guarding all the things they brought—cameras, coats, diaper bag, and purses. She waved to him as he made his way to her through the throng of frustrated adults and restless children.

Rachel reached deep into the pocket of her blue jeans and retrieved her cell phone. The face was flashing. A call? She couldn't hear anything against the din of the game machines and excited children. She read something from the display, then thumbed a reply.

“Who is that?” He mouthed the words.

Rachel mouthed back, “Suzanne. Asked if we were having fun.”

Effectively, Rachel was doing no more than she would have done in a tweet, but she did it with a virtual person. So much better than the old way. He laughed to himself.
So six months ago!
Technology changed the world so quickly.

She and Scott had agreed not to tell the older couple about Suzanne. They might find it either inexplicable or just plain weird. Either way, it wasn't worth the effort.

And Alicia? Well, that was even more of a special case. No one knew about her except Scott, and he had plenty of reasons to keep it that way.

She was the one thing in his life he couldn't pray about. If it was as innocent as he kept telling himself, then why was that? He pushed the thought away.

Evidently Suzanne was active in some way right now. Was all of “her” there or only the part of her that could send text messages back and forth? Probably the latter. But who knew?

And what was Alicia doing while he was enjoying this time with his family?

•  •  •

MELISSA PUT THE CELL PHONE
down on the leather passenger seat of the Audi.
The Other
would be gone for at least two more hours.

Stupid cow
.

She parked the car in front of the garage door and got out. This would be her house soon. Or maybe they would move. So many things would be tainted. None was important
enough to worry about this evening, though. There was work to be done.

She lifted the lid on the garage door entry keypad. She pushed the illuminated buttons in the order that the fool had revealed them to Suzanne.

“Scott changed the code on our garage door,” Rachel had said. “I'm afraid I'll forget what they are.”

“You can tell me,” Suzanne had cooed. “I never forget anything.”

One by one the lights blinked as she keyed in the code that would open the house to her.

K-I-D-S-R-U-S

She pressed the green ENTER button and watched the door rise, then ducked under and pushed the button inside the garage to close it again. The incandescent lamp mounted on the overhead motor vibrated, throwing trembling shadow figures around the garage.

She is such a fool
.

She was in. She felt her hip pocket, made sure the small package was safely in place.

All about her were the signs of Scott's presence. A metal workbench set against the outer wall, with an array of tools mounted over it. But there was no vise, which fit his profile. Light repair work, but nothing serious. His expertise lay in other areas.

She walked to the bench and picked up a yellow-handled screwdriver. Scott had touched this. The handle felt cool as she moved it across her cheek.

She took a deep breath and expelled it slowly, preparing herself for what was to come next. This was the most distasteful
part, but necessary. She was about to walk into the domain of
The Other
, and the sense of the other woman's presence made her flesh creep.

Who was the stranger here? Not herself. It was
Rachel
. She did not belong. Like a skin cancer, she needed to be cut away. When she was excised, everything would become beautiful. Right now it was all so confused. Nothing was where it should be. Nothing felt like it ought to. She touched her pocket and felt reassured.
Not much longer
.

The entry door opened into the dining room. Decorations hung on the walls, country-style knickknacks. No sound from the dog outside in the backyard.