The story so far:
Maggie and Della are roped into building a special computer for a woman who has been blinded in a car crash. They later discover that her husband, David Carlini, is widely blamed for the accident. He blacked out and later came to in time to drag his wife from the car. It also turns out that the wife, now blind, is dying of cancer.
Maggie later discovers that the man has a juvenile criminal record, full of DUIs, theft, malicious mischief and more. He has no adult record, but that doesn’t mean he’s stayed out of trouble. It just means he’s avoided arrest. Maggie begins to fear for her safety and wonders if Dave might be using her to hide his own guilt.
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Now, here’s our story, post-Thanksgiving:
Still Up (image by Nara Vieira da Silva Osga)
For most people, a lot of turkey means a lot of sleep. But, chronic insomniac that I am, that’s never been the case. I can stuff myself to the eyes and then spend an hour walking it off but the effect will be the same. I end up staring at the ceiling until the early hours, then drift off, wake back up and finally drag the rest of me out of bed.
As Della says, it’s the perfect opportunity for me to tell my stories. Granted, it’s a tad difficult with a pounding headache – a side-effect of the above-mentioned insomnia – but I shall try my best. After this story, there’ll be no getting back to sleep anyway.
So, Alice had suggested finding someone else to build the computer for Maria Carlini. I tried to do that, but no one I spoke with took me up on the offer. A family feud, they asked, with a possible DUI? Nope. I’ve got children. That’s enough trouble. Smart-alec stuff like that.
We were back to square one with no other option but to build the darned thing and then duck out as soon as possible. Della suggested I have a few words with David’s sister, Ann, to make sure the computer stayed in one piece and in Maria’s possession. Maria seemed to know her own mind and that was an advantage, too. She obviously trusted David, whether or not he was the one who blinded her.
I still felt torn, but worked my way through hardware and software configurations anyway. It would be a nice computer, something to help Maria for what time she had left. David was holding up his end of the bargain, too, with a sizable down-payment for parts and labor. The special software alone was over a grand.
Building Maria's Computer (image by Pavel Matoušek)
Della was testing a version of the voice-activated program I’d just installed. She wasn’t satisfied with it and removed headphones. “She’s going to have trouble with this,” she declared, sourly. “There’s too much going on at one time.” We’d been struggling with that. Imagine having to listen to everything you needed to do on a computer, rather than see it. It was a major obstacle.
I opened the program and started playing around with options, hoping I wouldn’t have to do anything more than that. It was complicated. Every change under the hood necessitated another round of testing and tweaking. “We’d better finish this,” I recommended. “I want Maria to use this computer before it’s too late.”
Della nodded her head, muttering “poor thing,” before putting the headphones back on. Her fingers found the keyboard and she began to type. Her eyes stared above the computer and were obviously not part of the process. “Better…” she said, then typed again. “But I think we should…”
“So how’s it goin’?” A voice boomed behind us. I swung my head around to see David Carlini, staring at us from the doorway. Della removed her headphones, confused by an interruption she did not completely hear. “I said, how’s it going?” David repeated. There was an edge to his voice, stress perhaps, or frustration. Unlike the first visit he was scrubbed clean, right down to the fingernails. The rest of him was wild, though: wide eyes and frayed edges on the verge of hostility.
Mad Man, Miracle Man
“Uh, pretty well,” I stuttered in surprise.
“I got more money.” David said, cutting me off. He reached into his pocket and extracted a folded piece of paper. It was a check. “Where do you want this?”
I took Della’s arm and found myself holding it for comfort. “Just on the table,” I said. “We’re still working on this but…”
David didn’t wait for the rest of my sentence. He clomped over to the desk and dropped the check near the phone. ”Fine.” His voice was hoarse, as if he’d been shouting.
Della stood up and moved in the direction of his voice. “Mr. Carlini,” she said quietly. “The computer will be ready by early next week.” She heard David’s tone and was proceeding with caution. “I know this is a hard time for you.”
“Hard time?” The edge in David’s voice grew deeper and more dangerous. He began to pace and rubbed his face. “I don’t know why I even came here. Nobody’s gonna’ help me.”
I didn’t move, and willed Della to do the same. She didn’t get the hint. “We’re going to do what we can,” she continued.
“I don’t remember nothing’ about that night,” David said, oblivious to Della’s last comment. Perhaps he was oblivious to us as well. “I had one drink. I had one drink. And I ate. I made sure I ate. And now I got nothing.” He reached into his pocket again and pulled out his wallet. He reached inside and then scattered bills over the floor. “I got nothing,” he said. His teeth were clenched and he was still pacing. “Goddamn miracle man. What miracle?” He threw the wallet to the floor. It bounced and landed near the edge of the carpet.
The noise seemed to bring him to his senses. He blinked and then looked up at us. “Oh, I’m sorry…” he said, blanching and staring at the floor. “I’m…I’m sorry.” He bent over and scooped up his wallet. “I just, uh…”
“That’s alright,” I said, finding my voice at last. David looked worn down, smaller somehow that he’d appeared just a moment before. I picked up the bills and handed them back to him. He returned them to his wallet, looking acutely embarrassed.
Della nodded, calmed herself by David’s change in tone. “We’ll call you some time early next week. We’ll get you something that will help Maria. We promise that. You have a lot on your plate right now.” Della’s tone was smooth and consoling. She used that tone a lot with clients. In most cases, there was a lot of pain involved.
David rubbed his face again, still looking embarrassed. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m sorry. I just got upset. I got…laid off today. I’m sorry.”
I glanced at the check that David had dropped onto my desk, but Della was way ahead of me. She wrapped her arm around mine so I couldn’t move towards it. In our business, you never give money back to a client. They’re in enough anguish as it is without being pitied and treated like a charity case. “We’ll call you when the computer is ready,” Della continued. “We’ll come to your house and set it up. Maggie is working on the training program right now.”
“Okay,” David said. “I guess I’ll be home anyway.” Then he walked down the stairs and out of the door. Simple as that.
Safe? (image by Asif Akbar)
Della eventually let go of me and made her way to a chair. I looked at my hand and realized that it was shaking. “Are you alright, Maggie?” she asked.
I sat behind my desk and took a deep, meditative breath. “I think so,” I replied.
Della exhaled, a sure sign that she was also shaken by the encounter. “So, next week we drop off the computer, do a little training and then have the office locks changed.” She chuckled. I did, too. “I will make one suggestion, though,” she said.
“Yes?” I asked.
Della ran an unsteady hand through her thick, white hair. “Given what just happened,” she said, “I’d suggest we not go there alone.”
I looked back at Della. “Amen to that,” was all I could think to say.
