From the February issue of Deb’s Quill
Marie Shore sat by the bay window in her apartment, looking out at the rose garden, basking in this beautiful sunny Vancouver day. The gardens and lawn were manicured — perfect, even. Like everything here in Shaughnessy, with its wide, tree-lined boulevards and long, winding driveways bordered by gardens fit for kings. She and Jason had lived more simply, even before his cancer. This opulence was…uncomfortable. But her son, Gary, insisted she not live alone.
She was grateful to Cindy and Gary for opening their home to her, for giving her this whole suite of rooms in their mansion where she could grieve privately. But it wasn’t the same. Of course, it wasn’t. But perhaps just as well. If she’d stayed in the house she’d shared with Jason for over forty years, she’d have drowned in the memories. Here, she could sit and be quiet with them.
She controlled the room’s temperature with a press of a button, but kept the room slightly chilly, at 22 degrees Celsius, so she could wear Jason’s sweater. It dwarfed her, hung on her sixty-five-year-old bones like a potato sack, but she drew comfort from it. From the scent of Old Spice that lingered even after all these years, and from the memories woven into every stitch.
Like the two of them sitting in the living room of their Point Grey home: Jason poring over ad campaigns or profit and loss statements; her knitting this sweater and watching TV. Like the two of them out for a walk that lasted longer than the sun, and Jason slipping this sweater over her shoulders for warmth.
She tried to ward off the last memory — and failed — of Jason taking it off for the last time, folding it neatly before he donned the hospital robe and climbed into the hospital bed that would be his home for the final months of his life.
Tears no longer flowed, not after five years, but her eyes misted, her nose ran, and her fists still clenched at the injustice of an aggressive cancer that claimed him before they were done loving each other.
Four-year-old Mandy wandered in and tugged on her sweater. “Nana-Rie, what are those yellow flowers outside your window?”
Marie looked down. Mandy, with her curly light brown hair and Gary’s eyes in Cindy’s delicate face, would be a heart-breaker one day. Marie patted her lap and helped Mandy climb up. “Those are roses, Mandy.”
Pounding footsteps echoed on the hardwood floors outside her room. She looked up and smiled as Mandy’s three-year-old brother ran toward her, arms and legs pumping, an ear-splitting grin on his face.
Behind him, Cindy ran after him. “Jason Hobart Shore, you stop this minute.”
“He colored on the walls,” Mandy giggled. “Mama said he has to stay in his room until he learns not to do that.”
“Your mama is wise.”
“Jay doesn’t listen. I bet Mama takes his tablet away from him.
“A suitable punishment, I think.” Marie hugged Mandy to her, perhaps a bit too tight, and loosened her hold when the child squirmed. “What would you like to do this afternoon?”
“Can we go out and see the roses? Mama says I can cut some for the dinner table tonight. Can we?”
“Of course.” Marie rose, set the child down, and drew the sweater more tightly around her. She held out her hand. “Shall we?”
Marie slid the patio door open, and the two of them stepped outside. Garden shears rested on the brick retaining wall holding the flowers back from spreading onto the lawn. “Do you know why your mama wants these flowers?”
“Uh huh.” Mandy reached for the shears, but Marie gently removed her hand from the handle and picked them up. “These are for adults, love. Not children. Point to the ones you want and tell me what the flowers are for.”
Mandy pointed, and Marie clipped. “Mama says we are having company tonight. And you are supposed to come.”
“Did she now?” Marie sighed. She knew what this was about — matchmaking — and she didn’t want to play along. Why couldn’t Cindy leave her alone? She wasn’t hurting anyone. Her window and memories were a safe place that kept her from doing something that would devastate the people she loved.
“You’re hurting yourself,” Cindy told her a few weeks ago. “You’re still young. I know you miss Jason. We all do. But he’s dead and you aren’t. You have to stop acting like we buried you with him.”
Hah! What did Cindy know? She’d buried her mother but that was nothing like burying a soul mate. But Cindy and Gary were good to her. She owed them, even though they said she didn’t.
“Let’s go inside, love. Nana-rie needs to get ready for dinner. Nothing fancy, but I don’t want to embarrass your mama.”
An hour later, Cindy stuck her head in Marie’s room. “You ready? Our guest is here.”
Marie checked herself in the mirror. She’d used a blow dryer and curling iron to tame her silver hair into a bob and tucked it behind her ears. She’d applied a soft eyeliner and a touch of pink on her cheeks and mouth. No foundation. She refused to hide the wrinkles creasing her face and bracketing her mouth and eyes. No false advertising here. She was what she was. Even if she were interested in meeting someone new, which she wasn’t, she refused to pretend to be young and carefree. She was old. Her bones creaked, her hands were covered in age spots, and she had a few hairs sprouting on her chin.
Jason wouldn’t have cared. Whoever this mystery blind date was, he could go hang if he didn’t like the way she looked.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she said, looping her arm through Cindy’s. “Though you know this is just another mistake. You should stop trying.”
Cindy tipped her head to touch the top of Marie’s. Just for a second. “And you should start trying.”
Gary had removed the leaves from the mahogany dining room table, reducing it to an intimate size for four. The vase of roses sat in the middle, cream brocade place mats held midnight blue place settings, and off to the side stood an older gentleman. He was handsome, Marie grudgingly admitted to herself. A full head of silver hair swept back, a neatly trimmed goatee, and a hawkish nose under piercing blue eyes.
Gary made the introductions.
Joe Campbell, Robotech’s VP of Human Resources, shook her hand briefly and nodded. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marie. Gary has told me so much about you. He sure loves his mama.”
“I do,” Gary agreed.
They sat, and passed around dishes heaping with the food Cindy had spent the afternoon cooking. Marie had no idea what all the dishes were called. Cindy would fill her in later. But the salad was heavenly, the filet mignon melted like butter in her mouth, and the asparagus and mushroom dish sent her salivary glands into overdrive. Cindy’s mother, a chef, had taught her well.
Joe tried to engage her in conversation. “Joe told me about your husband. I’m so sorry,” he said, touching her hand briefly before pulling away. “I lost my wife ten years ago. It still hurts, now and then, but more as a faded memory than the scorching pain it was at the time. It does get better, Marie.”
“It doesn’t feel that way.”
“It helps to get out, meet new people, do new things.” He refilled her wine glass, tried to catch her eye. “Sorry, that was my shameless attempt to persuade you to say yes when I ask you out.
She tried to respond. Truly, she did. But all she could manage was a tight nod, and a stomach that roiled at the thought of spending one more minute away from her window and her memories. “I’m not feeling well,” she said, and excused herself.
Behind her, as she left, she heard Cindy say, “I’m sorry, Joe. I guess I shouldn’t have pressured her to be social. I just thought it was past time for her to live again.”
“No worries,” Joe answered. “She will when she’s ready.”
******
The next morning, Marie headed for her chair by the window, and stopped short when she saw Gary standing by the window, tinkering with a tall…tin-man…looking thing.
“Gary?”
He swung around, a big grin on his face. “Hey, Mom. Look what I brought you. This is Li Wei.”
“It’s a robot. Why does it have a name? And what is it doing here?”
“Not just any robot. Li is next-generation AI.” Gray turned a key in the middle of Li Wei’s chest, and the light behind its eyes blinked on.
It was uncanny, almost like looking at a real face. It unnerved her.
“Li is our beta testing unit. I figured we should test him here so I can see for myself how good he is.”
“Why is it here, in my room?” The robot was standing by her chair, keeping her from sitting and remembering. She didn’t appreciate it.
“He’s your companion for the next few months. He is programmed to clean and cook for you. He can discuss current events, the weather, your bunions, whatever you want.” He grinned and patted the robot on its back. “It sounds exactly like a human. Cool, right? It’ll be your companion. It’ll be good for you.”
She stood, fists on hips, color rising up her neck, temper simmering. “I don’t need a companion.”
“Sure you do.” Gary took the few steps to where she stood and placed his hands on her rigid shoulders. “It’s time, Mom. Cindy has been treading too softly, letting you drown in your grief for too long. It’s been five years since Dad died. Enough. You don’t want to talk to other humans? Fine. Li Wei isn’t human. You can talk to him, instead.”
“It,” she corrected. “I can talk to it, instead.”
“Exactly,” Gary grinned. “What I said.” He pulled her into a hug and kissed the top of her head. “I promised Dad I wouldn’t let you grieve for too long. I’ve let him down. No more. We’re starting easy, with Li Wei. Then we’ll go from there.”
Marie tried to ignore Li, but the robot refused to be rebuffed. Every morning when she got up, it greeted her with a cup of her tea made exactly as she liked it and a slight incline of its head.
“Good morning, Mrs. Shore. Here is your tea. What can I make you for breakfast this morning?”
For the first week, Marie didn’t answer it, just took the tea back to her chair and tuned the robot out. Then Jay and Mandy came to visit after school. The two were fascinated with Li, peppering it with questions, climbing on it, playing with it. It shocked Marie to see the robot lower itself to the floor to play tiddlywinks and pretend to miss, or cover its eyes while the kids hid in a game of hide and seek. Just as she imagined her Jason would have done.
The next morning, when Li brought her tea, she said, “Thank you. Would you make me some waffles this morning? With fresh fruit and whipped cream if we have any.”
“We do,” Li said, and busied itself making her breakfast.”
Marie sat at the kitchen table for the first time since Gary bought it for her. “How intelligent are you, Li Wei?” she asked. She draped Jason’s old sweater over her shoulder.
“I can turn the thermostat up, if you’re cold,” Li said, although Marie hadn’t seen him look at her.
“It’s fine. I like it cool.”
“I am a learning robot,” Li said. “Today, a week after activation, I am at a high school equivalent. University takes longer … about two more weeks.”
“Wow.” What else could she say? That learning speed was tremendous. “What about emotions?”
“I don’t have any. Not really. But I know what they look and sound like.” He poured batter into the waffle maker. “I know you are grieving. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Those sound like just words. How can you be sorry if you have no emotions?”
“I can’t. But I want to ease your grief, and I thought those words would help.
They did. A little. Mostly, they helped her relax around it.
Li learned her rhythms. He began folding her blankets before she asked. He learned which books she re-read and which she only pretended to like. He made sure Jason’s sweater was always where she could find it.
It asked her about Jason, after about another week of observing her. And it listened as she recited their lives together.
“He sounds like a fine man,” it said. “And he loved you.”
“How would you know?”
“Love is the most written-about emotion. I have ample data to base my opinion on. The love you two shared is written about many, many times. It makes it easy for me to recognize.”
“You’re unsettling,” she said.
“Why? Because I understand what love is? Or because I can never feel it, myself?”
“Yes,” she replied, and for the first time, smiled.
One night, a month after Li Wei arrived, Marie sat by the fire with a glass of port and the soft hiss of rain outside. Li stood in the corner, not moving, just being.
“I don’t talk to people,” she said without preamble. Li’s head swiveled toward her, with the faintest whirr. “Not really. Not since Jason. Not even with Cindy and Gary.”
Li Wei stood across from her, motionless except for a slight head tilt in her direction. It was enough to show her he was listening.
“He had this stupid laugh,” she continued. “Snorted on the exhale. Drove me mad. But I waited for it. Every day. I lived for that sound.”
“I can try to replicate the sound, if it will bring you comfort.”
She took a shaky sip and shook her head. “No. It wouldn’t be him.”
Later, when her glass was empty and the fire had died, she glanced at Li for the first time. “I don’t remember what Jason’s last words were. Isn’t that awful? I remember the beeping of all the machines he was hooked up to. I remember the smell of antiseptic that seeped into my clothes and lasted through two washes. I remember holding his hand and enduring the bruises when he tried to squeeze his pain away. But I don’t remember his last words.” Her eyes glistened when she looked up at Li. “I feel terrible about that. How could I not remember?”
“That is normal,” Li said, turning its body toward her. “If he’d said, I love you, you’d have remembered that. More likely, he cried out in pain, and he wouldn’t want you to remember that.”
“How can you know that?” she demanded, and turned her back on it.
“I don’t know it. But the data suggests it is the most likely scenario.”
“You and your data,” she yelled, and threw her wineglass at him.
Li said nothing, but fetched the broom and dustpan and cleaned up the mess. Then he returned to his corner and became still again.
It was another few weeks before Marie spoke to Li again. It went about its routine, unperturbed: making her breakfast, which mostly stayed uneaten; cleaning; making sure Jason’s sweater was always within reach; playing with the children when they came to visit.
Gary and Cindy dropped in a few times a week. She answered their questions with “I’m fine. Stop worrying.” She stayed in her shell, coming alive only when her grandchildren visited.
One night, a month after Li Wei arrived, she dreamed about Jason. It wasn’t the usual sweet, memory-based dream. It was Jason as he looked on his last days, almost skeletal, skin yellow and mottled, eyes sunken, ribs poking through barely-there flesh, the putrid smell of rot over-riding the pervasive disinfectant. He scolded her for wallowing in her grief. “You’re being dramatic,” he told her. “I died. You didn’t. Stop acting like you did.”
She shared her dream with Li the next morning over toast and tea. “What do you think it means?” she asked. “You have psychology programming, don’t you?”
“I do,” it said, “What do you think it means?”
Marie laughed. “That’s exactly what a psychiatrist would say.”
“It’s good to hear you laugh.” Li cleared away her plate, made her a second cup of tea.
“I’m serious. I don’t believe in ghosts, so I don’t think Jason came to me last night. But it has to mean something.”
“I’m sure it does, but since it was your subconscious speaking to you, the message is personal to you. You are the only one who can say what it means.”
“Answering without answering.” Marie shoved her chair back, its legs screeching across the vinyl planking, leaving black marks. “I thought you were supposed to be intelligent.”
“And you are directing your frustration at me, so you don’t have to look inward.” His head tilted. “I am happy to take your frustration if it helps you.” He bent, opened a lower cabinet and retrieved a scrub brush and cleaner. Then he stood and waited.
“The scuff mark can wait,” she groused. “I’m trying to have a conversation here.”
“You are trying to make me give an answer that only you can give.”
“Whatever.” She stormed out of the kitchen, forgetting Jason’s sweater.
An hour later, she came back. The scuff mark was gone, which annoyed her. Li had erased her anger, like she wasn’t entitled to her emotions. And there it stood in the corner, the light behind its eyes the only sign of life — silently judging her.
“I’m telling myself to get on with my life.” Marie snatched up Jason’s sweater and glared at Li. “That’s what you think, isn’t it?”
“It’s what you think, isn’t it?” Li parroted.
She stormed to it, poked it in its chest. “How do I turn you off?”
“You need a key. I believe that only Gary has a key, but he didn’t share that information with me, so I may be wrong.”
Marie stormed from the room, from her apartment, from the mansion that encased it. She power walked down the street, muttering to herself. When she got back, her anger and body were both spent, and she slept the rest of the day and into the night.
Over the next few weeks, Marie started rising earlier. She walked with Mandy and Jay into the garden and pointed out birds and flowers. She joined Cindy in the kitchen for tea, and Cindy and Gary for dinner. She forgot Jason’s sweater more often than not.
And she started to cook. At first, it was only dishes she’d shared with Jason, but then Li printed out some new recipes with pictures that made her mouth water. She handed them back. “You should make these,” she said.
“You should make them,” Li answered. “And invite someone to share them with you.”
“You’re getting ornery,” Marie groused.
“You need to stretch yourself,” Li answered, unperturbed.
So she gathered the ingredients and started making one of the dishes. Li played quiet violin recordings while Marie cooked. When she asked for a popular song from her youth, he played Another One Bites the Dust, by Queen. Marie sang along with it as she chopped and diced.
“Another one bites the dust… And another one gone, and another one gone, another one bites the dust!”
To her surprise, Li joined her in the chorus, his voice a deep baritone.
“I didn’t know you could sing.”
“I can talk. Therefore, I can sing.”
“Huh!”
One afternoon, she touched his hand. It was cool and hard and very smooth. It looked like skin, but it wasn’t.
“Why are you so cold” she asked.
“I can adjust my temperature if desired.”
“No. Don’t.” She drew away, confused. “You’re not supposed to be human.”
“That’s correct.” Li looked at her with its peculiar head tilt.
Marie couldn’t meet its eyes. “But I keep forgetting.”
“Then I will keep reminding you.”
She laughed without mirth. “No doubt.” Then she retreated to her room for the rest of the day, ignoring Li’s announcement that dinner was served.
At breakfast the next morning, Li handed her tea and a plate of poached eggs on toast, with a hint of butter and a sprinkling of salt and pepper. It was just the way Jason used to make it. A sob caught in her throat. Not—this time—because Jason was no longer with her, but because Li cared enough to make it for her.
She didn’t plan to say it, bit the words back a few times because they were foolish, but they refused to stay unsaid. “I think I care for you.” It was ridiculous to feel anything for a machine. She didn’t love her vacuum, hated her washing machine more often than not. But this was different.
Li paused before answering. “Attachment is a natural outcome of sustained emotional interaction. I am designed to foster connection.”
She choked on her eggs. “Now you sound like a damn computer. I’m not talking about programming.”
He tilted his head. “I am a computer, of sorts.”
She blinked and sighed. “I know that. It’s just … you’ve been so kind. Patient, you know?”
“It’s how I’m programmed. I don’t like or dislike anyone or anything. I behave as I’m supposed to behave.”
“But you brought me these eggs. When I needed them most. If you don’t feel, how could you know that?”
“I watch you, and I learn. It seemed the next logical step. Now that you are ready to move on.”
“Ready to ….” The words hovered in the air for what seemed like minutes. “Ready to move on.” She shook her head, sank back in her seat, and turned the words over in her mind a few times. “Ready to move on.”
The next morning, she caught Cindy on her way out the door, Mandy and Jay in tow. It was a workday, she remembered, and Cindy must be on her way to work, the kids to Robotech’s daycare. But Cindy took the time to stop and listen.
“I think I’d like to go back to work for a while. Can you use a bookkeeper?”
“Oh, my.” Cindy set her briefcase down and sent the kids back inside to play. “This is sudden.” She led Marie into the living room, sank them down onto the couch. Cindy held Marie’s hands. “But you’re sixty-five. Why do you want to work?”
Marie shrugged, retrieved her hands and held them around her middle. “I need to get out, do something — be productive.” She hesitated, looked away, color flooding her cheeks. “Li Wei says I’m ready to move on. I think he’s right.”
“He?”
“It,” Marie corrected. She laughed, but it was tinged with bitterness. “The damn thing is too human-like. It’s unnerving.”
Cindy raised an eyebrow, said nothing.
“I was starting to fall for it.” Marie slid her eyes to Cindy but found only compassion, not derision there.”
“I see.” Cindy brought Marie in for a hug, then released her. “Of course, I have a place for you at work. For as long as you like. And I’ll have Gary take Li Wei back if you want.”
Marie nodded. “I think that would be best.”
“Okay.” Cindy gathered her case, called the children, and stood. “Care to start today?”
“I care to,” Marie answered. And walked to the car with Cindy and the kids.
One month later, Cindy invited Marie to another dinner. She wasn’t surprised, not in the least, to see Joe there.
“Good to see you again, Marie. You’re looking lovely tonight.”
She knew Joe was supposed to compliment her, but hearing those words felt good. “You, too, Joe. I’m sorry I was such terrible company when we last met.”
He brushed her apology aside. “We all grieve in our own way, and our own time.”
She huffed out a laugh. “That’s what Li Wei said. Quite a few times.”
“Li Wei?”
“It’s that advanced AI robot Mom was beta testing for me,” Gary chimed in. “I used Marie here as a guinea pig, trying it out, making sure it worked okay.” He winked at her. “It does.”
“Gary is softening the truth to spare my feelings,” Marie corrected.
“He’s like that,” Cindy said, kissing Gary on the cheek.
“He is,” Marie agreed. “But he doesn’t need to be.” She turned to Joe. “The truth is, Gary gave me Li Wei to see if it would help get me out of my self-imposed misery. It took a while, but it did.”
“Let’s sit, shall we?” Cindy suggested. “I hired servers for tonight. It’s rather special.”
“I’m glad this Li Wei helped you,” Joe said, seating Marie and then grabbing the chair next to her. “I had someone to help me, too.” His smile was rueful. “Although I hope this robot fellow was kinder to you than my daughter. She practically dragged me out of my grief, kicking and screaming every step of the way.” He handed her a cloth napkin. “I’m glad she did, though. One can only grieve for so long before it becomes less about the one we lost and more about feeling sorry for ourselves.”
Marie angled her body away so she could get a good, long look at him. “That’s true. I think that is the stage I was in. Self-pity. For too long.”
A waiter brought the first course, a creamy carrot and scallop soup. “I hear you’ve been working at Robotech.”
“I am.” Marie sipped her soup. “Delicious. Try it. I hear you are retiring.”
Joe set his spoon down. “I am. End of this year.”
Gary clanged his spoon against his plate. “Cindy and I have an announcement.” He waited until Marie’s eyes were on him. “We’re pregnant again.”
“Oh, my.” Marie’s eyes teared up. “I’m so happy for you. Three children.”
“Thrice blessed,” Joe said. “Congratulations.”
Marie rose, rounded the table, kissed Cindy and hugged Gary. “Congratulations.”
When she sat down, she turned to Joe. “Do you have kids? Grandkids?”
Joe nodded. “I have four sons. All grown now and off on their own life adventures. And they’ve given me six beautiful grandbabies to spoil.” He pulled out his wallet and flipped to the photos. “I can’t help boring everyone I meet with these pictures.”
“They are lovely children, Joe. You’re very lucky.”
“I am.” He turned to her, placed his hand over hers. “I’m taking the ferry across next week to Victoria for tea and crumpets at The Empress. Would you join me?”
His hand was warm and gentle on hers. It stirred something. She didn’t know if this would lead anywhere, but it didn’t matter. He was kind, handsome and she liked him. That was enough for now. “I’d like that.”
THE END
© Deborah Sarty. All rights reserved. This story may not be reproduced without permission.
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