I’d gotten where I was from paying attention. Her town was desperate. The guys in the bar last night were desperate. They stank of it. Their jokes were laced with it. They were uneducated, unemployed, and stuck. But Harper had money, beauty, and talent. Maybe the headache was keeping me from seeing what she wanted me to see.

Maybe that was all I had to do. See her problem. Then she’d release my system and kick me out of her fucking house. Maybe she’d marry one of Johnny’s kids and make smart babies.

Yeah. No.

Harper didn’t need to marry anyone right now.

My reaction was so quick I couldn’t question it until I was entrenched in refusal. Obviously, from a completely impartial standpoint, she was too good to be stuck here. I didn’t need to want her myself to know that. Staying here and making babies with a guy in a trucker hat was a betrayal of her potential. As opposed to (me) someone with resources (me) and a valid passport to take her around the world (me).

Not me, obviously. I wasn’t interested in crazy. I wasn’t even interested in a relationship.

But someone like me.

The room swam when I sat up, and the knife in my head jabbed hard when I stood, but I wasn’t so hungover that pissing in the bed was an option. By the time I’d emptied my bladder, I had my balance back. My eyes cleared, and I could see the wiry mushroom growing out of the ceiling. The paint it grew from was probably full of lead. I put my dick away, washed my hands, and tried to walk out. But the mushroom bothered me. It had a long stem and a small, cone-shaped head. I pulled it, but the plaster put up a fight. A chunk of dusty white grit came off, leaving rocks and dust on the toilet tank. But a string of mycelium stayed attached. I pulled again. Another line of plaster came off.

“Shit.” I dropped it and let it hang from the fissure. That was going to bother me more than if I’d just left it alone.

“Mr. Harden?” A female voice came from the bedroom.

Catherine stood in the doorway with her hands folded over her chest. She was so sweet and unassuming in an apron and dress. Like a real throwback to an earlier time. The exact opposite of her sister. I wondered how much she knew about what Harper was up to.

“Yeah. Hey, thank you for putting me up again.”

“It’s not a problem. I was making eggs. Did you want some?”

“Hell yeah.”

She smiled. She liked being useful. I could tell that much. “Any preference?”

“Any way you make them. But if it doesn’t matter to you, fried is fine.”

“How many? Three?”

I could have eaten a dozen. “Yeah. That would be great. Thanks.” She was about to leave when I stopped her. “Catherine?”

“Yeah?”

“Where’s Harper?”

“Running errands. Be down in ten if you like your eggs hot.”

---

Catherine had eggs, coffee, toast, and bacon ready on the kitchen table. I washed up in the sink.

“I made a mess in the bathroom.”

“What was it?”

“The mushroom was making me crazy.”

She laughed. “Reggie plasters over it at least twice a year.”

I rinsed, wondering what a person would have to do to make Catherine angry. “I can spackle it up.”

“Really? Well, you can see if there’re any tools in the shed.” She handed me a towel. “When are you leaving, Mr. Harden?”

She didn’t sound cruel or rude. Her tone barely moved.

I wiped my hands, wishing I had an answer. “I keep trying to.”

The eggs were still warm. I tried not to shovel them, but I was starving.

“I want you to think about taking Harper with you.” Catherine sat across from me, cradling her coffee mug.

Did she know her sister was a hacker? Did she know her sister was inches away from ruining me?

“Excuse me?”

“She’s dying here, and she won’t leave. The longer she stays, well, you know what happens.”

She didn’t know. She thought Harper was just her smart sister.

“To be honest, I don’t know what happens.”

“She made it to twenty-five without having kids. Most girls around here start at eighteen. She’s going to be an old maid like me unless she finds a man who can match her.” Catherine didn’t look as if she’d hit thirty. Hardly an old maid. “I think where you are, she might find happiness.”

In Silicon Valley, a girl like Harper would get swooped up like a steak in a wolf’s den. She’d have her pick of rich and talented men. The fact that what she’d done to QI4 would make her a talent commodity was an oddly secondary concern.

“She can go where she wants.”

“No, I mean… you could introduce her around. Be her friend.”

My reflection stared back at me from the black surface of my coffee. “I could. But where I’m from, no one really likes me. Right now, my company’s under attack, and outside the people who work for me, everyone thinks it’s funny, or cool, or they’re somehow vindicated. The whole world watched me burn, and now you know what they’re disappointed about? Not that my creation crashed. They’re disappointed that they won’t get to be the ones to take me down. They won’t get the glory. Someone beat them to it. So I’d love to help Harper, but if I brought her back with me, they’d hate her too.”

“I doubt everyone hates you.”

“Believe it. I can show you tweets that would make your hair turn red.”

She blew on her coffee and sipped it. Tapped the edge. “She’s had a rough time.”

“I know.”

“When our father died, she was supposed to take time off school and go back. But our mother…” Catherine shook her head pensively. “She took a mortgage out on the factory, defaulted first chance she got, and left with everything. Just. Gone.”

“I’m sorry.”

She waved as if it was old news. “There was a man involved. Of course. Had been for a while. She was waiting for our father to die so she could leave.”

“So you started selling furniture.”

She smiled at some foolishness then sighed. “I hear someone has a problem… if all I have to do is give them an antique to sell, I give it to them. That’s all they’ll take. An object or work. No one accepts a handout.”

“It’s a big house. That’s a lot of problems.”

“It is.” She gathered the plates and brought them to the sink. “And there are more. Always. The furniture’s gone, and I’m running out of projects around here.”

I couldn’t imagine her sacrifice. Richest girl in town with a father who owned the primary place of employment reduced to poverty by her own mother.

“Do you have tools around? Hand tools? Stuff like that?” I asked.

“In the shed out back. We’ve loaned a lot out and sold some, but the basics should be there.”

“Okay, to your first question, I don’t know when I’m leaving. Harper and I have some things to work out.”

“What things?” Her voice was all hope wrapped in surprise.

“Just things. Let me fix that hole in the wall first.”