By November, I had begun writing my work notes in two columns. The left held what I could point to: a statement received, an entry checked, a folder searched. The right held questions. I had originally labeled that column “Possible explanations,” but crossed the words out after reading them the following morning. A possibility looked too authoritative once I had given it a line and a date.
On an ordinary Tuesday, I caught myself about to carry an assumption into the left column. Two items looked related. They might have been related. I had not found a record establishing that they were. I drew my pen back before it touched the paper, annoyed at how much effort it took to distinguish work I had completed from an answer I wanted.
There were still calls to return and people standing beside my desk with questions unrelated to my own. I helped someone locate an old payment record, then spent several minutes looking for the pencil I had tucked behind my ear. Nothing about the day looked like waiting. Yet every time footsteps slowed outside the room, I listened before I resumed adding.
I took a routine coverage question to Della Keene that afternoon. After she answered it, I stayed in the chair. She closed the folder between us and waited.
“Is there anything I should know about the other matter?” I asked.
“I don't have investigative details to give you, Lenora.”
“I keep wondering whether I've overlooked something simple.”
“Then keep your work clear about what you looked at. If you have another question about the records, bring it to me.” She paused. “I can't give you an answer just to make the waiting easier.”
That was fair, and I disliked it. No one had ordered me to carry the uncertainty in a particular way. No one had told me what to say to my brother about the evenings I spent rechecking my own work. I had chosen not to tell him about the account because I had no explanation, and because once spoken at his kitchen table it would belong to our family as well as the office.
That evening Otis had an equipment list waiting in the garage. He had drawn boxes beside the items we could postpone and circled two he thought worth considering now. I set down the bread I had brought for supper and noticed that he had left my usual stool free of parts. He had prepared for a meeting. I had come hoping for a meal.
“We can look at these Saturday,” he said. “If they're no good, we walk away.”
“I may have to do some work Saturday.”
“Morning or afternoon?”
“I don't know yet.” I took off my coat slowly. “Things are taking longer than I expected.”
He laid the pencil across the list. “What things?”
“Coverage. Getting everything straight.” It wasn't a lie, but I heard the care I had taken to keep it from becoming a useful answer. “I can't really explain it tonight.”
Otis pulled out the other stool without sitting on it. “You don't have to bring office business here. I do need to know whether I'm shopping for equipment with a partner.”
“You are.”
“Then tell me what Saturday I can count on.”
I looked at the circled items. One was something he could use whether or not I ever joined him. That made his refusal to buy it harder to dismiss as impatience. I offered the following weekend, then spoiled the offer by saying I would have to check. He turned the paper over, leaving the blank side toward us.
“I'm not ordering anything,” he said. “Not until we decide we're actually doing this.”
“I reserved the money.”
“I know you did. I haven't touched mine either. Money isn't the only thing we're putting in.”
I wanted to tell him that I had done something necessary and was trying not to make a larger thing of it than I could support. Instead, I asked whether he wanted me to leave. He said no, sounding tired now, and took the bread inside. We ate supper without returning to the list. He asked about my car, and I asked about a sore thumb he had wrapped in tape.
Before I went home, I turned the equipment sheet faceup. Otis didn't stop me, but he didn't add anything to it. I left it on the bench rather than putting it in my bag. I had protected the unanswered question at work; at his house, I had left him with one of his own.