Problems with People Read Online Free PDF Page A

much—should he contact his new tenant? The sense of rigor he depended on to keep from making social errors was eroded and finally sufficiently compromised by a day without errands, and by the pressure of feeling snowbound, to warrant what, exactly? Writing her an e-mail. He wrote one nervously. Subject heading, “ WATER TURN OFF .” Now the hard part. Dear Tenant? Hi Lydia Williams? Eventually he thought of a clever expedient. Once again he wrote “FYI” and his initials. The rest he sent attached, as if, by extrapolation from his prior communiqués, she should assume it was from the secretary of the BVHA instead of from him—a strategy of minor but not innocent misdirection—to wit, “A reminderthat if you are going to be away for an extended period of time, please turn off your main water valve. And it wouldn’t hurt to let one of your neighbors know how to reach you just in case there is a need to enter—you know, like for frozen pipes that burst and create havoc.”
    Conceivably this might just prompt Lydia Williams to divulge personal information—when she would be away, where she was going—though that was jumping the gun, he knew; there was no reason to believe she was about to take a trip. But if, for example, she was driving for the holidays to a hamlet in Montana, well then, this ruse would give him search fodder: he could try “Lydia Williams Cut Bank” and see what happened. Maybe answer the question “Is that where she’s from?” Cut Bank or another hypothetical destination? Because so far his surf stalking had yielded about a goose egg; there were just too many Lydia Williamses; even when he’d plugged in her rental-application data, he’d come up with pretty much zilch. Yes, “ WATER TURN OFF ” was a foray with an invasive secondary intention. Who knew where it might lead? Maybe they would end up discussing this matter of his entering her/his—it was still his—apartment in the case of burst pipes and havoc. The point was, he could be turning a corner with this potential new e-mail. Nerve-racking. And then he hit on an even better stratagem. He wrote, after “FYI” but before his initials, “The main water valve is hidden behind the upper right corner of the washing machine.” Could he bring himself to click Send on that? It would be personal—outside of an attachment.
    Poised over his trackpad, he looked out the window, where a very small bird was having difficulty finding a perch thatwas not too cold—it kept fluttering around in a snarl of small branches, raising puffs of powder. Not the kind of thing he took an interest in—nature. But right now, entertaining in its wintry, desperate way. Should he click on Send? He should not click on Send. He highlighted and deleted “The main water valve is hidden behind the upper right corner of the washing machine,” but sent the attachment ostensibly from the secretary of the BVHA along with “FYI” and his initials. So no change in status. Safe.
    She e-mailed back almost immediately with: “Hi. In case I need it—where’s the valve? Thanks—Lydia.” To which he replied, “Behind the upper right corner of the washing machine.” No initials.
    There followed this exchange: “I don’t see it. L.” “It’s a little bit hidden, but it’s there. S.” “I still don’t see it.” “It’s a gate valve—red. Three feet or so off the ground. Right corner.” “Not there that I can tell.” “I am happy to come by the apartment on a day and at a time of your convenience so as to chase this down.” “You don’t need to do that.” “I have errands to do anyway.” “I’m here this coming Saturday morning.” “What about ten?” “See you at 10 on Saturday. L.” “Weather permitting. Roads being open.” “Maybe between now and then I’ll find it.” “Right back corner. Let me know.”
    Saturday arrived. The temperature was much improved, the snow had melted almost entirely from the main roads—dirty water