Josh Roseman - The Clockwork Russian and Other Stories

How could I ever have said goodbye to this woman?

I’m still at my desk at seven, long after everyone else has gone home. I put my comm into the dock on my desk and select the Medfield address that connects me to Naomi’s parents. Her mother — the same face, the same hair but done in gray-streaked brown — answers my call, folding her arms. “What is it, Scott?”

“Hello, Joanna,” I say. “Is Naomi available?”

“Even if she was, I don’t think she wants to talk to you.”

“Fine, but I still want to talk to her. Can you…” I trail off. Something Naomi’s mother said sinks in. “Why wouldn’t she be available? It’s a school night. What about Bobby and Cher?”

“They’re fine,” Joanna says. “Their grandfather is helping them with their homework.”

“That’s good.” Naomi’s father is a biologist, one of the smartest people I know. “Where’s Naomi?”

Joanna’s lips press together tightly, and she exhales slowly through her nose. I stare intently at the screen, and finally Joanna tells me. “She’s gone out. A date.”

I feel my fingers go cold, a fist clenching around my heart. “A… a date?” Joanna nods. “With whom?”

“She didn’t say. And it’s none of my business. Or yours,” she adds. “Or don’t you remember that you didn’t renew the contract? The one you insisted on, instead of marriage? When you said no, you gave up the right to ask after Naomi.”

Joanna’s finger comes close to the screen, to disconnect me.

“Wait,” I say, my voice dull. “Please.”

Her hand moves away. I’m thankful; Naomi’s father wouldn’t have waited. “What is it?”

“I…” My mouth is suddenly dry. I swallow hard, run my tongue over my teeth, and try again. “I made a mistake.” The sound of the words, the trembling near-whisper, the first time I actually say it out loud, it all runs together and I find myself crying. I choke back a sob. “I should have renewed, Joanna.” I have to force the words out. “I miss Naomi. I miss the kids. I… just…” I manage to take a couple of breaths. “Please, Joanna. If I call her, she won’t answer. Can you help me? I just want to talk to her.”

Joanna’s silent for a long moment. “I know you have her comm address. For the kids.” She appears to make a decision. “Here.” Both hands move toward the video pickup and I hear the soft clicking of keys. My comm pings a second later. “Her emergency code.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Joanna says quickly. “She’s furious with you.” A long pause, as if she’s not sure what she wants to say next. “But you’re better as a family.” Her expression is more sad than anything else. “Fix this, Scott, and don’t screw it up next time. I won’t help you again.” She stabs her finger at the screen; her face blinks out, replaced by a call summary. I touch the keys on the dock and bring up my messages.

There it is. Naomi’s emergency code. They can be bypassed, but Naomi’s not that technical.

I am. Instead of calling her, though, I type the code into AC&C’s locator program. Her location comes up less than ten seconds later, along with a map and directions. I don’t need either.

I was just there.

The skywalk.

I pass my card over the reader and step through the little plastic turnstile at the Faneuil end of the skywalk. A group of what looks like college students holds the elevator for me; when we get to the top, they stroll out and I angle around them. According to my comm, which has been tracking Naomi’s location since I left the office, she’s at the midpoint of the skywalk. Maybe she’s even sitting at the same table where Cher and I sat a few nights ago. I zip up my jacket and begin walking, wondering how I’m going to explain to Naomi’s date why I tracked her down.

Turns out that’s not even necessary; Naomi’s standing at the railing, looking outward. There’s a gentle breeze; her curly hair flutters a little, as does the tail of her shirt where it peeks out from below a dark-green cashmere sweater. I stand next to her. “Hi, Naomi.”

She turns her head. Her face is hard, her eyes sharp. “What are you doing here, Scott?”

“I thought you were on a date,” I say.

“That’s not an answer!” she snaps. But she immediately looks to regret it; I know that expression. “He invited me to his apartment, but when I told him I wasn’t planning to sleep with him, he got pissed off and left.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” She actually half-smiles. “But then, you had that woman in the house when I dropped off the kids.” The smile’s frozen on her face as she realizes what she said. “Did you sleep with her?”

Well, there’s no right answer here. Best not to lie. “Yes,” I say. There’s regret in my voice that I didn’t expect. “I… I was lonely, and we negotiated.”

Naomi makes a face. “That’s disgusting.”

I shake my head. “I shouldn’t have, but we tested first. We were clear.” I try to keep any inflection out of my words, but I know I sound a little bitter. “It’s been almost a month. I haven’t been alone since we moved in together. I was lonely, Naomi. And I missed you.”

“I could tell.” Her hand is cold when she puts it over mine. “Scott, what happened to us? We used to be so happy.”

I look at her; her pale eyes are shiny. “I don’t know, Naomi, but I know this: I’m not ever going to be happy again unless I’m with you.”

She laughs, that incredulous sound that means she doesn’t know how to react, and then she’s grabbing me, hugging me tighter than she ever has, almost knocking me off-balance as she pulls my head down and kisses me like she did when I proposed the contract. My arms go around her and I squeeze her right back until she coughs into my mouth and I realize I’m holding on too tightly.

“Come on,” she says, her chin trembling. “Take me home.”

We hold hands all the way to the elevator, and once inside, she presses against me like she did that night in the elevator all those months ago. I put my arms around her waist and pull her close.

“Hold on,” Naomi says between kisses. I’ve pulled her sweater off and shoved up her blouse to get to her bare stomach. But her hand is on my shoulder. “Scott, wait!”

I bury my face in her stomach, breathing in the scent of her, heart pounding. “What is it?”

“I have to…” she swallows, but doesn’t continue, just pulls away and goes into the kitchen; I follow, shrugging off my jacket and tossing it on a chair. She goes straight to the junk drawer and takes out the tester, and the pounding in my chest stops for a few seconds. I can only watch, dumbfounded, as she opens the little white box and powers it up, then presses her left middle finger to the yellow oval.

We wait. It beeps. She reads the screen, which I can’t see.

And the color in her cheeks drains away.

“Naomi?” I sound small. Scared.

She passes the tester to me, and I can tell she couldn’t speak if she wanted to.

“DRHIV TYPE TWO MARKERS DETECTED. PLEASE CONTACT YOUR PERSONAL HEALTH REPRESENTATIVE IMMEDIATELY. BIOCONTROL IMPLANT ACTIVE THROUGH 052880. THANK YOU FOR USING PFIZER.”

I put it down on the counter. “Naomi? What… how did this happen?”

There are tears in her eyes again. This time she can’t stop them. She reaches for me, but I step back; she stumbles and catches herself on the edge of the counter, going to her knees. Her hands readjust her clothes, seemingly without thinking about it. “It was the night after I left,” she says softly, not looking up. “A couple of friends, tried to cheer me up. We got really, really drunk.”