Restoring Harmony Part 9

"I'm a friend of Molly's," he said.

He smiled, stood up, and held out his hand, but Grandpa was looking at me for confirmation. "You know him?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yeah . . . he's the one I told you about that helped me on the MAX."

Grandma started talking to the guy again. A lot of the time she could say single words very clearly, but sentences seemed to elude her, and when she tried, her conversations sounded more like gibberish mixed with the occasional swearword. Today, she was animated, and the guy looked enthralled, even though I couldn't understand anything she was saying. Was he just being polite? I was starting to get the idea he was pretty nice, and it made me want to know more about him.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, finally breaking into the conversation.

"Nice to see you too, Handsome Molly," the guy said.

The sunburn had faded, and his nose was peeling.

"Well, yeah. . . ." I could feel myself blushing. "That's what I meant. I was just surprised. I see you've met my grandma."

"Yep."

He smiled and I blushed harder for some stupid reason. He acted like a nice guy, but I wasn't really sure how I felt about him memorizing my grandparents' address just because I'd shown it to him on the MAX. That seemed a little creepy.

But he was here now, so I decided to be polite. I set the produce on the end table and wiped my dirty hands on the back of my shorts. Then I reached up and undid my ponytail, letting hair fall around my face. I hoped it wasn't too sweaty and gross.

"Come," Grandma said to me. She took my arm and led me to the kitchen counter. Grandpa and the guy followed us. With shaky hands, she unwrapped a small brown-paper package and then she peeled off an inner layer of HyperFoil. She smiled at me as I gazed at a slab of some kind of red meat, the ice crystals still clinging to the marbled fat.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Beef," the guy said.

"You brought this?" I asked him.

He nodded. I stared at him. "Ummm, that's very nice of you, but-"

"You don't have to be afraid of it," he said. "This is organic, free-range. I know the farmer personally."

It wasn't that I didn't trust him, exactly. It just seemed risky. Practically the whole world had given up beef back in 2031. Millions of herds had been slaughtered because cattle had developed an unstoppable virus that had caused over two hundred thousand human deaths. I was not going to eat beef, and I didn't want my grandparents to either.

The only cows on our island were milk cows, so it hadn't affected us, but even I remember seeing worldwide riots on the web news, calling for the governments to do something. It had destroyed the fast-food industry overnight and caused unprecedented unemployment. Even though it had been labeled the Second Factor in the Great Collapse of 2031, some people thought it was an even bigger reason for the Collapse than the First Factor, which was when the government took over petroleum. Only organic farms were spared, and even a lot of those lost their herds.

"The truth is," I said, trying to sound diplomatic, "I don't have any idea what to do with it."

"Ever cook a chicken?" he asked.

"Well . . . ours are mostly for eggs, but I've made chicken stew," I said.

"Same idea," he said.

We were smiling at each other, but I was pretty sure I was going to throw it away after he left, and somehow I got the feeling he knew that.

"Why don't we sit on the deck?" Grandpa suggested. "Your grandma looks tired, and she can lie on the blanket under the tree."

"I really have to go," the guy said.

"What's your name?" I finally asked, since he still hadn't offered it up.

"Ever read The Borrowers The Borrowers?" he asked.

"Of course!" Grandpa exclaimed.

"Yes!" I said. "I love those books."

"Remember Spiller?"

"The guy who brings the family meat?" Grandpa asked.

"That's the one," he said. "Just call me Spiller."

Grandpa and I started laughing. Grandma tried to say it, but all she managed was "Spillllll."

"Hey, I like that better," he told Grandma. "Spill it is. I really better go now."

I kind of liked this guy. I mean, he'd read The Borrowers The Borrowers! But how strange was it he wouldn't tell us his name? Maybe it was something horrible like Herbert or Reginald. I was torn. Part of me wanted to get to know him, but I was still a little concerned about how he'd just knocked on our door like we were old friends. What had he told Grandma to get her to let him inside? Or would she just open the door to anyone? If she did, that would explain why Grandpa had slammed it on me that first day.

"You could stay for dinner," I suggested.

He gave me a small smile that said he could tell it was a halfhearted invitation, which made me kind of embarra.s.sed that I hadn't been more enthusiastic.

"Maybe next time," he said. "I really have to go now, though."

"I'll walk you out," I offered.

"Hey, wait a minute, Molly," Grandpa said. He pulled me off to the side. "If this guy can get beef, he's obviously got connections. You should ask him if he can get you on CyberSpeak. To let your parents know you're okay."

"Nah," I said. "I already called them on the phone."

"But they need to know . . . well, our . . . circ.u.mstances."

"I've got it under control," I said.

This Spill guy was nice enough, but I already felt weird about him bringing us meat as a gift. Plus there was something oddly secretive about him. I was not going to ask for favors.

"Spill?" Grandpa said. "Do you know anyone on CyberSpeak? Molly needs to talk to her parents."

"I'll handle it myself," I said to Grandpa, giving him a bug-eyed look.

"Sure," Spill said. "Well, actually, maybe not CyberSpeak, but email. Do you know anyone with an email address?"

"Of course she does," Grandpa said.

"Yes," I answered, glaring at him.

"Next time I have to make a delivery out this way," Spill said, "I'll stop by and pick you up. Okay?"

I was annoyed with Grandpa, but I forced myself to smile. "That would be great. Thanks."

The two of us went outside. As I watched him unlock his bike, I was. .h.i.t with a wave of longing. "I wish I had my bicycle," I said.

"If you had it, you could ride it back to Canada. There's a great trail all the way from Portland to Seattle."

I laughed. "I can just see myself hauling my grandparents behind me in a little trailer like yours all the way back to B.C."

"When are you leaving, anyway?" he asked.

"Well . . ." Did I really want to admit to him that we were broke? I guess it wasn't a crime or anything. Lots of people were poor. "We're a little short on the train fare," I said. "I just need to find something to sell."

"Really good booze is about the only thing you can get cold, hard cash for," he said.

"What do you mean, really good really good?"

"Imported. Rich people like the good stuff."

"Well, no luck there. We don't even have the bad stuff."

Spill got on his bike.

"Just so you know," I said, "you don't have have to take me to send an email. I'll figure something out on my own." to take me to send an email. I'll figure something out on my own."

"It's not a problem. But you do have to promise me one thing."

"What's that?"

"You can't tell anyone where I take you."

"Ummm, okay. I promise. But you won't get in trouble, will you?" I asked.

"Only if we get caught."

As I watched him ride away, I wondered where he would be taking me that was such a secret.

17.

GRANDPA AND I WERE PICKING OUR WAY ALONG the creek that ran behind the house. I wanted to make a stew, and Grandpa had suggested I build a fire in his stone fountain on the sunporch, but we needed fuel. We'd scoured the underbrush close by for anything we could burn but hadn't found much, so we were expanding our search.

"It's those squatters," Grandpa mumbled. He pushed his gla.s.ses up the bridge of his sweaty nose. Even in the heat he was wearing pants and a b.u.t.ton-down long-sleeve shirt.

"What do you mean?" I asked. I added a few small branches to the burlap sack. We'd found it in the garage and were using it to hold anything we were lucky enough to get.

"When times got tough," he explained, "most of our neighbors moved away to live with their grown kids. For a while, your grandma and I were practically the only ones on the whole street. Now squatters live in almost every house. And they've already collected all the firewood."

"Are they . . . dangerous?"

"Oh, probably not." He added a long, skinny branch to the bag and it stuck out the top. "They're just homeless, I guess. But you should be careful. Don't talk about the garden to anyone. You don't want Doug to have to defend it."

"Really? Would he have to?"

"Well," Grandpa said, "that's why he came here last summer. His sister and her husband asked him to because they said said they needed a guard at night." they needed a guard at night."

"Wow."

"I don't think they really needed one, though," Grandpa explained. "His sister, Courtney, she knew Doug was down on his luck, but he wouldn't take her charity, so I think she made up a story about people stealing from the garden at night."

From what I knew about Doug, that sounded about right. He would've wanted to seem useful if he was going to live off his sister. Grandpa added a few pinecones to the bag to use as fire starters while I sat on a boulder and dug a stone out of my sandal.

"His sister and husband lived here last year?" I asked. "You mean they died that recently?"

For some reason, I thought it had been a while. I guess because of the way Brandy talked about it like it was no big deal. Of course, when you're six, even a few months is a long time. I picked up some sticks for kindling.

Grandpa nodded. "Flu," he said. "Over the winter. Both the husband and wife, and the baby too. I guess Doug didn't know I was a doctor. He never asked for help."

"That's just awful," I said. My nose p.r.i.c.kled in that funny way like when you're about to tear up over something sad but you're not actually going to cry. "He never told me."

Grandpa put an arm around my shoulder and gave me a squeeze. "Yeah, well . . . he used to be a lot more friendly. We talked some last summer, but since they died . . . he keeps to himself. At least he did until you forced your way into the garden."

He smiled at me, so I knew he was just teasing. We'd reached the end of the housing development and the creek disappeared into some woods. There was a big sign that said PRIVATE PROPERTY PRIVATE PROPERTY and three strings of barbed wire blocking our way. and three strings of barbed wire blocking our way.

"Can you get through the fence if I hold the wire up?" Grandpa asked.

"Probably, but I don't want to get shot or anything."

"Ah, don't worry about it. I know the guy who owns this land."

He grabbed the top wire and lifted it, and I scooted in between, grazing my calf.

"Ow."

"You're fine," he said.

"Gee, thanks! Are you coming?"