On June 20, after the screening arranged through my official inquiry, I went to an orientation with a handbag full of unnecessary things: my sewing glasses, a second pencil, a wrapped peppermint, and the hope that somebody would look at me without seeing a woman who had given away her roof. Amos met me near the entrance. He offered company, not instructions.
"I don't decide what they'll ask you to do," he said as we went in.
"You have told me that."
"I sometimes need telling myself."
That small confession made him easier to walk beside. In the room, an unnamed supervisor explained the limited work being offered to me. I would assist with written information associated with recorded telephone material during authorized sessions, following the directions given there. If I was uncertain, I was to mark the uncertainty and ask. I was not being offered an investigator's authority.
I had imagined usefulness as a broad, warm garment someone might put over my shoulders. This sounded more like an apron with a particular job attached. I listened harder. The supervisor described only my assignment, not the whole effort, and asked me to explain back what I understood.
"I work on what you give me here," I said. "I don't take it home to improve it. I don't fill in something because it seems likely."
"And if someone contacts you outside this work?"
"I use the official contact for a report. I don't undertake anything myself."
I told the supervisor about the demand already reported, making clear that it was my own experience rather than something I had learned here. Part of me wanted to ask whether I could keep the caller talking if he tried again. It would have sounded brave. It might also have let me imagine I could turn my earlier mistake into a trap for someone else.
"I don't want private contact with that caller," I said instead. "If that is expected, this isn't work I can accept."
The supervisor said that was not my assignment. I let the answer stand without asking whether somebody else would pursue him or whether my notes had become important. Those were questions about a larger room than the one I had been invited into.
Amos and I sat through the remaining explanation. Retired volunteers were helping a coordinated effort, we were told; this was not a club of people independently chasing suspicious voices. I asked about breaks because my back stiffened if I sat too long. The supervisor answered plainly. It was oddly reassuring to have my ordinary back considered alongside my willingness.
When the choice came, I accepted the limited assignment. I did not sign myself over to every future request, and no one asked me to. Outside, Amos asked whether I was glad I had come. I said I would know more after doing a session. He smiled, as though that answer was less disappointing than he had expected.
Mara was waiting at my house that evening. I had told her where I was going, but not enough to prevent her from imagining the rest. She asked whether I would be talking to criminals. I said I had no established identity for the person who called me and no private pursuit planned.
"That isn't what I asked."
"Then let me tell you exactly what I agreed to."
I described the supervised setting and the limited written task without repeating material I had been told not to take outside it. She wanted to know who was being investigated and whether anyone had been arrested. I said I had not been given that information. Her mouth tightened.
"So they want your help, but they won't tell you whether it's dangerous."
"They described what I will do. I can decline something I haven't agreed to. I can leave if I can't manage it. I cannot give you an entire investigation because I don't have one."
She turned my second pencil between her fingers. "I want you useful somewhere that doesn't begin with a telephone."
I understood the wish. I had wanted usefulness without any reminder of the loss too. But the loss existed whether I stayed home or not. I took back the pencil and put it beside the calendar. "This is a limited yes," I told her. "You don't have to make it bigger to worry about it." For once I said it to myself as much as to her.