II
I’ve got to get to the bottom of this. How could he have gotten that score? As I approach the car, the engine automatically starts and the right side door, the one closest to me, pops open. As soon as I sit in the cheap cloth seats the seatbelt automatically wraps around me. Even though it’s thirty degrees in the car-waiting area, it’s cool in the vehicle, the natural temperature in the car’s ergonomics program.
‘Where to?” Siri asks.
“Home.”
We glide out of the waiting area to the main street. Sometimes I wish Siri would speed up a bit. Can’t she tell that I’m in a hurry? I have to talk to somebody about this, or this is going to drive me crazy.
Madison? My mother, his only daughter? She would be the obvious person to handle this. I’ve got to tell her about this. Somebody’s gone and screwed with her own father.
“Call Madison,” I practically yell at the centre console. I pull a bottle of water with a twist of lemon out of my bag and take a long gulp.
The call goes through, but the voicemail returns. “Leave a message.” My mother was never one for words. “Yeah, Madison, it’s me. Listen, I…” I don’t know what it is but something inside, that small annoying voice in my head—I don’t know where it comes from—tells me to hold on. Why, I don’t know. Just think about this for a while, before you bring her into this. After all, she’s been acting kinda strange lately, ever since you started visiting him more frequently.
“Yeah, Madison. Just saw Pops. He says to tell you hi. Talk later. End call.”
Don’t know what’s gotten into her. She’s fifty-five years old, looks twenty-five, but sometimes acts like a five-year old. I take another swig of the lemon water. The scenery zips by outside the windows and the lower glass door panels. Inside the cabin is as quiet as can be. At times like this I’m glad for the silence.
Another five minutes and the silence is unbearable. I’ve got to talk to somebody.