LESSON NINE: HOT CHICKEN / COLD OVEN

  Today is Thursday, February 27, 2025

  There are still about three feet of snow on the ground—my seventeenth birthday is in four days. Mother is coming home to celebrate. Henry’s dance and math tutors travel through our System as if that’s what they’re supposed to do, and I still find it unsettling. I note every time Brutus is out of his cage and Finch shows up. They are never in the same room at the same time.

  I have officially been in public school for one month. In that one month, I have learned more than I ever did in a year with Vernon. I still feel lost and dumb socially, but I’m maintaining a decent level of cool. Having friends and a punk rock badass as a mother helps.

  Dutch Valley High School is full of Babies. I meet new ones every day. Today it was a kid in the cafeteria who said, “Your mom saved my life one time.” He just said it and stared right into my eyes, and then turned and walked away.

  The reality of public high school, though, is that it’s exhausting me. I fall asleep a little after lunch every single day in Rothenberg’s history class. Today, for the third day running, I fell asleep in the car on the way home. I was in so deep, Milorad had to physically shake me awake.

  He parks and lets me wake up as he fiddles with something over by the pool house. I finally drag myself into the house.

  There is a woman—a new stranger—in the study teaching Henry about earth science.

  “Where’s Vernon?” I ask.

  Henry shrugs.

  I go through the study to the garden. It’s a beautiful day. Crisp and sunny. Milorad is moving bags of mulch from the shed to a rose bed. I go back into the house and into the kitchen.

  “Marta?”

  It’s four. Dinner is always at five thirty and Marta isn’t here. Usually, I can talk to her after school while she preps food.

  I hear the whir of the System. The fan is always louder in the kitchen. I know now that this could be a tutor or anyone other than Mother, but my brain still wishes it was her. The capsule goes by with Henry’s science tutor in it.

  When I walk back through the house, Henry is already out in the garden with Milorad. The System is still whirring, and it makes no sense until I see Henry’s dancing tutor hurtle by in a capsule.

  “Welcome home, Jane! How I missed you!” Vernon says. He pats me on the head as he walks by with a stunning bouquet of flowers. “How was school today?”

  “Why was Henry’s dancing tutor here?” I ask.

  “Suppose she was heading home.” He arranges the flowers in a large glass vase. “It’s after four.”

  “Wait,” I say.

  “She does other things besides teaching your brother how to dance,” he says. He finishes arranging the flowers, brushes pollen off the arm of his sport coat, and checks his pocket watch.

  I ask, “Who are the flowers for?”

  “Thought I’d make the place look festive.”

  “Is Finch coming over?”

  Vernon’s shoulders go back like he’s suddenly proud. “Not tonight, no. Gemma will be here at five to dress you.”

  “A suitor?”

  “I’m excited for you to meet him.”

  “Me too!” I run upstairs and turn on the shower. Gemma Gemma Gemma Gemma.

  * * *

  —

  “I’m wearing whatever you want me to,” I say, eyeing myself in the mirror. “I don’t even care.”

  Gemma laughs. “We have until six.”

  “Great.”

  “How’s school? Is it fun? Are you making friends?”

  I lie naked on the down duvet Mother sent from Europe—white with green leaves and butterflies on it.

  “School’s good,” I say. “But something weird is happening here.”

  “Oh?” she answers.

  I roll onto my front and twist my wet hair. “How do you get here? Like—to the house?”

  “I—um—walk, mostly.” Gemma is a bad liar.

  “That’s odd. Henry’s tutors have been using the System.”

  “I’m so glad Vernon finally got him some tutors,” Gemma says. “Hopefully algebra, yeah?”

  “And you walked?” I say. “Today?”

  Gemma looks down.

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “It’s nearly five thirty, Jane. We have to get you ready.”

  I look at Gemma lying and she’s beautiful. She has these ringlets—curls people would pay money for. She just has them swept aside like they’re nothing. Tucked behind her ear.

  “How about something school-themed to echo your week?” she asks.

  “Whatever you dress me in will be perfect.”

  I stand at my vanity and slowly moisturize myself. She throws me fresh underwear and a bra.

  “No bra. I’ve been wearing one all day. That’s one thing I hate about this new life.” I slip on the panties and then stand like a mannequin with my arms out to my sides and my eyes closed.

  Ten minutes later, Gemma is finishing some light makeup on herself, and I zip on a pair of knee-high boots. I look at myself in the mirror. Plaid school uniform skirt—too short. Vernon will not approve. Good. V-neck sweater with a little white button-down under it. No tights, even though it’s below freezing outside.

  I stop by the vanity after I hear the doorbell ring. I apply big black cat eyeliner on the edges of my eyes. When Gemma sees, she approves and leans in and kisses me on the cheek.

  It stops us both.

  Gemma has never kissed me on the cheek or anywhere before.

  She has shocked herself, it seems. Her face goes red and then stark white.

  I ask, “Are you okay?”

  She answers, “Let’s go, shall we?”

  By the time we get downstairs, Vernon has a roaring fire going, the table is set and ready, and I hear Marta in the kitchen whipping potatoes.

  “Where’s my suitor?” I ask Vernon.

  “Outside. Had to make a call,” he answers.

  I find myself oddly disappointed—it’s been three months without suitors and I admit I miss the thrill. I walk into the kitchen. Marta looks me up and down. “Nice boots.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  “Can I help?” I walk around to where she has most of the food ready to serve in ceramic bowls and offer to take some into the dining room.

  She’s carving the chicken. “It’s fine. I’m nearly ready.”

  It’s abnormally chilly in the kitchen. I touch the top of the oven and it’s cold. “Where did you roast that chicken?”

  “What?”

  I watch her lay the meat out on the plate, pour gravy on it, garnish it with parsley. I note her jeans have flour all over them as if she was baking, but there are no baked goods in the usual basket on the large center kitchen island. “How come the oven is cold but you have a roasted chicken?” I ask.

  The System clunks to action and the fan whirs throughout the house. There’s the usual noise and then suddenly, into the dumbwaiter area of the kitchen tube, a basket arrives.

  “Where did this come from?”

  Marta ignores my question and retrieves the basket from the dumbwaiter. I can smell them—warm dinner rolls. Her special recipe. As she balances three family-style bowls on her platter and heads to the door to the dining room, I walk toward the tube.

  I press the Call button, and a capsule clunks its way toward me.

  When the capsule arrives, I get in.

  I close the door.

  I press the big green button.

  * * *

  —

  Inside the tube, it smells of Mother’s hand cream and Marta’s dinner rolls.

  As I brace myself for movement, I look out into the kitchen and see what Mother sees. I always thought her view would be distorted by the curved plastic, the way ours is when we look in at her, but it’s not. Everything looks normal.

  Marta comes back through the swinging door just as I start to descend. I see her see me and rather than panic, as I expect her to do, she waves and smiles. I feel like this is a movie and I’ve been rehearsing for this role my whole life.

  Station Six

  I don’t expect music. I always thought it would be windy and thumping and loud and fast and violent, but actually, the ride is smooth and feels cushioned and the song that’s on is familiar—it takes me a few seconds to recognize it’s the Stooges’ “I Wanna Be Your Dog,” which is a song Vernon hates.

  The ride gets faster as I go—from the basement hallway outside Mother’s room to a lower level, and then one lower than that. Then I am flipped onto my back and shuttled through a long dark area that opens up to a sort of station. The capsule slows here.

  It is brightly lit and tiled white. The ceiling is familiar—glossy-white-painted industrial wiring and plumbing.

  As I look around, I can see the mechanics of the System and can picture other capsules, but I can’t see anything but my own.

  Standing on the platform dressed in blue-and-white-striped aprons are women who seem to be conductors. My capsule comes to a stop—still horizontal and in a chute of some kind. A woman in an apron comes toward me and leans down.

  “Welcome to Station Six, Jane!” she says.

  “Thank you.”

  “Are you looking for your mom?”

  “Can you send me to where Marta cooked dinner?”

  She has a small tablet—like a cellphone—and she seems to be entering all I say.

  “Absolutely. Your mother’s there. Just giving you the heads-up.”

  “Great,” I say.

  She types a few more things and my capsule moves along through the white-tiled station. It picks up speed and heads toward a tunnel to the left. Everything goes dark again. My ears pop as I descend even deeper.

  Safe House Mother

  When the capsule comes to a stop, vertical in a dining room with the meal attachment in place, there are three women around a table talking and eating and laughing, and they all slowly turn to look at me.

  “Jane!” one of them finally says, her hand over her mouth, looking like she’s about to cry, and I look at her and expect to recognize her, but I don’t.

  The other two say, “Hi, Jane!” “Nice to see you, Jane!”

  I wait for someone to let me out of the capsule, but then realize it’s not locked.

  “Jane?” Mother appears tube-side and opens the door for me. “I didn’t expect this,” she says. “I’m overjoyed to see you!” We hug.

  “I asked one of the apron women to send me to where Marta made dinner.” I look at the food on the table. Roast chicken. Mashed potatoes. Marta’s dinner rolls. Unmistakable.

  “Does she always cook here?” I ask.

  “No. We just had some work to do so she made dinner here tonight.”

  “Are you hungry?” one of the women at the table asks.

  I look at Mother. “I should probably go back—Vernon arranged a suitor.”

  Mother nods. “Does Marta know you’re here?”

  I shrug. “Where is here?”

  “Ah,” she says. “Let’s get you back to dinner in…is this cosplay? Are you doing a Britney dinner party?”

  She’s smirking so I know she’s joking. The other women have gone back to their conversation. I look at them. I look around. There are no real windows, but there are artificial ones. Everything is painted with bright colors and calming designs. There are fresh flowers in vases and several abstract paintings of sunflowers on the walls.

  I never got more than five feet from the tube. I turn to Mother.

  She asks, “You okay?”

  “What is this place?”

  “This is Safe House,” she answers.

  “Where is it?”

  “About fifty feet under the backyard. I’ll explain later.”

  “Okay,” I answer.

  “I saw Gemma today and she said she was coming over,” Mother says.

  “Has Gemma been here?”

  “That’s her story to tell,” Mother says. “You read the guide, right?”

  I look at her, stupid.

  “In Safe House? The laminated card?” She can see I don’t know what she means. “In the record sleeve?”

  Shit. Now I know why she wanted me to listen to Safe House. “I’ll find it when I get home.”

  She nods. “Okay, good. For now, let’s get you back.”

  “Okay. I love you,” I say.

  With that, the room goes silent. The women turn toward us.

  “I love you, too, Jane.” Her eyes well up and she holds a shaky smile.

  As she closes the door on the capsule and then seals the entrance of the tube, the tears escape her eyes and roll down her cheeks. One of the ladies at the table gets up and comes to her and rubs her back.

  I no longer know the truth about everything. The truth about everything keeps expanding.

  There are women who know who I am and who must know the stories of me hurting Mother. They live nearby—fifty feet under my backyard—which I will know more about later. Mother knows Gemma from outside the house. Marta sometimes cooks meals somewhere else. And seemingly there is a System of tubes that move people beyond our Victorian country home.

  This is a lot.

  When I get back to the house, I find I’ve only missed the appetizer. Marta looks at me differently now. The only thing she says as I exit the System is “They saved you two dinner rolls.”

  Back to the Dining Room

  Vernon is in storytelling mode. It’s the one about the time he went fishing and caught five hundred mythical fish. “The boat was full of them!” he says. “We just had to steer them into the coolers!”

  I find my seat and nod at the suitor—whose name I forget—and glance over at Henry, who has, like me, heard this story many times before. He rolls his eyes at me. I smile.

  Marta brings plates with chicken and gravy, potatoes, vegetables, and some sort of cranberry compote. I eat without saying much. Vernon tells story after story. Even the suitor looks bored. Before Marta serves dessert, I say, “I’m sorry. I feel unwell. I need to go lie down.”

  Vernon raises his eyebrows and gives a slight nod. I go upstairs and get out of my schoolgirl outfit as fast as I can (Free Britney!) and I replace it with my favorite pair of pajama pants and an oversized sweatshirt.

  A gentle knock at the door announces Gemma’s arrival and by the time she opens the door, I am deep in my bed, covered in all my blankets, trying to stay calm about how much I don’t know about her.

  Every time I find out a new piece of the puzzle, I feel stupid and trust no one. At least Vernon is predictable. He is always lying. To God and to everyone else.

  Gemma asks, “Do you mind if I sit down?”

  “I went into the tubes,” I say.

  “Marta told me.”

  “I saw my mom.”

  “Good,” she says.

  “I’m so ashamed.” With that, an ocean pours from my eyes. I curl away from Gemma, and she rubs my back as I cry until I vomit into the trash can next to my bed. Then I cry more. “I was so cruel!” I say.

  “You didn’t know,” she says.

  “It doesn’t matter!”

  “You were taught to be that way.”

  “I was fucking evil.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “I was, though,” I say.

  “I know,” she says.

  I lean over the side of my bed and vomit into the trash can again. I retch and retch until nothing more comes out. Gemma rubs my back and hands me a few tissues.

  I can hear my own blood rushing through my ears. I hear my heart pushing it through. Everything else in the world slows. It’s like how people describe getting shot.

  While Gemma takes care of the mess I’ve made, I lie very still on my side. Close my eyes. I picture me, Henry, and Mother in the rose garden, reading books when we were little. I breathe it in. I breathe it out.

  Gemma returns from my en suite and says, “I have to go back and report on how you are. Vernon will talk that young man to death, I fear.”

  “Will you come back?”

  “If I can, yes.”

  I hear her a minute later making apologies for me. No one at the table is disappointed—Vernon keeps talking. I stay under the covers. I am awake and alert, but from the outside, I look asleep.

  I don’t know what to do now. “I can’t stay here,” I whisper.

  Then I find Safe House and pick up the record sleeve.

  Quick Start Guide

  I reach in and pull out a six-inch square of laminated paper with a weird logo on it that looks like a maze and the heading Quick Start Guide.

  As I read, I start understanding the last year of my life and even more than that. Let me show you. Here’s side one:

  Ordering Tips

  Order any woman for any reason by logging into your account, and then click Ordering on the menu.

  If you require a woman for a task not listed, click Special Order and tell us what you need in the text box.

  You may not order women younger than 16 for love needs. (See Love Needs link in the menu.)

  Women under age 18 are accompanied by an adult woman for jobs requiring sexual, medical, or psychological know-how.

  If the woman sent to you is not the right woman, log into your account, click on Return Order and give as many details about what’s wrong with your woman as you can so we can build your personal profile, then return the woman through the System. A new woman will be sent as soon as she is available.