Jacob wondered if anyone was home. He turned to Rebecca. “You sure this is the right day?”
“I think so,” Rebecca replied.
They exited the Mercedes, a cool breeze and a cloudless sky greeting them. The front door was open, the screen door shut.
Rebecca opened the screen door and stepped inside. “Derek?”
He appeared, flanked by two boys. He wore a dark suit, ambling toward them on crutches. The boys—one reddish and freckly, the other tan—wore jeans and button-down shirts, the shirts entirely too big, and probably from Derek’s closet. The tan boy carried a blue urn.
“Thank you for comin’,” Derek said. He moved closer to Lindsey and gave her an awkward one-armed hug on crutches.
Lindsey half-heartedly reciprocated. “I’m sorry about Grandma.”
“Me too, but she lived a full life, and she loved you very much.”
Lindsey nodded, not making eye contact with Derek.
Derek introduced the boys, and everyone exchanged names. Then he said, “I thought we’d pay our respects at her favorite spot.”
Derek guided them through the orchard, along a swale. The boys walked next to Derek, Carlos cradling the urn. Rebecca and Lindsey walked together silently, Jacob bringing up the rear. The swale led to a pond. The sun reflected off the sparkling blue water. A bench sat on the pond wall, overlooking the water, shaded by a bamboo grove.
“This was her favorite spot,” Derek said, leaning on his crutches. “She loved to read out here. When my dad was alive, they used sit out here, talking and fishing.” He gestured to the bench. “Feel free to sit. I thought we could say a few words about Hannah, and then we can spread her ashes in the pond.”
The boys and Lindsey sat on the bench.
“Does anybody have anything they wanna say?” Derek asked.
Everyone was quiet for a few seconds.
Rebecca finally said, “I do.”
Derek hobbled next to the bench, and Rebecca took center stage, standing in front of the group. She adjusted the black shawl that covered her bare shoulders.
“Hannah was a wonderful woman,” Rebecca said. “She welcomed me into this family with open arms and treated me as one of her own. For that I am eternally grateful.”
Jacob glanced at Derek, who looked at Rebecca with a reverence and a familiarity that stirred the green-eyed monster inside Jacob.
Rebecca continued. “She was so kind to Lindsey when she was growing up. Always there to babysit when I needed a break. Always there with kind advice when I needed it. I will cherish my memories of her.” Rebecca smiled with glassy eyes and moved back to Jacob’s side.
“Anybody else?” Derek asked.
Again, it was quiet for a moment.
Carlos raised his hand. “I got somethin’ to say.”
“Go ahead, Carlos,” Derek said.
Carlos handed the urn to Ricky and stood from the bench. He took a few steps and faced the group. “I didn’t know Derek’s mom. She got sick when Ricky and me met Derek. I bet she was a nice lady though, ’cause Derek helped us a lot, so prob’ly she was nice. When I was pickin’ apples yesterday, I was thinkin’ about what my gramma used to say about apples fallin’ by the tree or somethin’.” Carlos looked to Derek for help. “You know what I’m talkin’ about?”
Derek smiled at the boy. “The apple doesn’t fall very far from the tree.”
The boy smiled back. “Yeah, that’s what she used to say. I think it means, if you have a nice mom, then prob’ly you’re gonna be nice. That’s it.” Carlos went back to his seat on the bench.
Derek wiped the corners of his eyes with his thumb. “Thank you, Carlos. Anybody else?” Derek looked to Lindsey, but she looked away. After a moment, with no takers, Derek took center stage. “My mother was a tough, hardworkin’ woman with a big heart. I couldn’t have asked for a better mother. I think she became my best friend later in life. When she lost my dad, and I was … single”—Derek looked away from Rebecca—“we spent a lot of time together, talkin’, eatin’, and workin’ the farmers’ market. I enjoyed bein’ around her because she was a great person. I loved her very much.” Derek took a deep breath and said, “Carlos, can I have the urn?”
The boy stood and handed Hannah’s ashes to Derek. He moved to the water’s edge on his crutches. He opened the urn and turned it upside down, the ashes floating in the breeze, then disappearing into the water. He returned to the group and said, “Thank you for comin’. It means a lot to me. I made spaghetti if anyone’s hungry.”
“I’m starvin’,” Carlos said.
“It’s all cooked and in the fridge.” Derek looked to Rebecca. “Maybe Becca can get plates for everyone and heat it up? I need to talk to Lindsey for a minute.”
“We can’t stay—” Jacob started.
“Let’s go, everybody,” Rebecca said, interrupting her husband. “Derek makes a mean spaghetti.”
Derek approached Lindsey. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
Jacob, Rebecca, and the boys headed back to the farmhouse. Rebecca navigated the kitchen like it was her own, because it had been. She heated the spaghetti and served the food. The four of them sat at the kitchen table, eating.
Jacob said, “This sauce is …”
“Pretty good, huh?” Rebecca replied.
“We should buy this stuff.” Jacob took a bite.
“Can’t. It’s homemade. The ingredients are from Hannah’s garden.”
Lindsey entered the kitchen, followed by Derek. Her face was flushed.
“Your plates are on the counter,” Rebecca said.
“Jacob, can I talk to you outside?” Derek asked.
Jacob wiped his mouth and glanced at Rebecca. She nodded almost imperceptibly. Jacob stood from the table and followed Derek outside.
Derek leaned on his crutches, the sun making him squint. “I have just one thing to ask you, and I want you to answer me honestly.”
Jacob nodded.
“Do you love Lindsey just as much as your sons?”
Without missing a beat, Jacob said, “Yes.”
Derek swallowed hard. “I’ll sign whatever you need me to sign for the adoption.”
35
Summer and Things Left Unsaid
Summer walked through the parking garage, cameras covering her every move. On one of the concrete pillars, a spray-painted message read Where’s Roger? She thought about Roger Kroenig, the congressman who disappeared five years ago. The guys talked about him in their Resistance meetings.
Her car unlocked as she moved close enough for the locks to detect her key FOB. She climbed into the back seat of her autonomous Hyundai, her feet throbbing. The car came to life, gauges and lights illuminated.
“Hyundai, take me home,” Summer said to the empty car. “Hyundai” was the computer’s default name from the factory. She could’ve changed it but never did.
“Destination, home,” the car replied.
The battery-powered Hyundai silently exited the parking garage of McLean Hospital, heading for her apartment. Summer took off her sneakers and rubbed her feet. Her cell phone chimed. She removed her phone from the front pocket of her scrubs.
She swiped right and said, “Hey, Dad.”
“I need you to come over,” Patrick said.
“What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, but it’s important. I need to talk to you.”
“Well, I’m headed home from work. I’m exhausted. Can it wait till tomorrow?”
“I don’t think so.”
Summer sighed and said, “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” She disconnected the call and said, “Hyundai, detour, Dad’s apartment.”
* * *
Patrick opened his door before she knocked. He ushered her inside. “You want something to drink?” he asked.
“No thanks,” Summer replied.
“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the sofa.
She sat with a groan, the pressure off her aching feet.
&n
bsp; Patrick moved a chair in front of the sofa and sat down, so he could face his daughter.
“What’s going on?” Summer asked, unblinking.
Patrick took a deep breath and said, “I know I haven’t always been the best father, but I want you to know that I love you and that I’m proud of you.”
Summer arched her eyebrows. “Are you sick?”
“No. I’m fine. I just wanted to make sure that you knew how I felt.”
She narrowed her eyes at her father. “You sound like a person with a cancer diagnosis. I would know. I’ve been around plenty of them. If you’re sick—”
“I’m not. I promise.”
“Well, I love you too, Dad, but you could’ve told me this over the phone.”
“There’s more, and I’m not sure you’ll like this part.” Patrick hesitated.
Summer frowned. “Just tell me.”
“How are you and Connor doing?”
“We’re fine. Why are you asking?”
“I don’t think he’s right for you.”
She stood from the couch, glaring. “What are you talking about?”
Patrick also stood. “Do you wanna have children?”
“What? Where is this coming from?”
“Answer the question.”
“Of course I want children! You know that.”
“Last week at Thanksgiving, I got the impression that Connor wasn’t interested in having children with you, and, based on your reaction to some of the things he said, I think deep down you know that too.”
Summer shook her head, incredulous. “Even if that were true, it’s none of your damn business.”
Patrick showed his palms in surrender. “I know. I’m sorry for overstepping my bounds. I didn’t wanna leave anything unsaid—”
“You should’ve left that unsaid.” Summer turned on her sneakers and left the apartment, slamming the door behind her.
36
Naomi and Cruella
Naomi yawned and stretched her arms over her head. She was ready to go home after another long day of begging for campaign donations. She powered off her laptop and closed the screen. Her desktop phone chimed. Naomi glanced at the OLED screen on the phone. It was Nina, her receptionist.
Naomi tapped the screen. “Yes, Nina.”
“Corrinne Powers is here to see you,” Nina said.
Naomi didn’t respond right away, thinking through her options.
“Mrs. Sutton?”
“Send her in.” Naomi tapped the screen, disconnecting the call. She stood from her desk and approached her door.
Nina knocked; Naomi opened the door with a saccharine smile. “Hello, Corrinne.”
Corrine returned her saccharine smile with one of her own and said, “Naomi.”
“Come in.” Naomi waved her inside.
They were almost identical in height and build, five four, petite, but Corrinne stood a few inches taller courtesy of her heels. Corrinne was every bit as stunning in person as she was on television. She wore a black dress that tied and buttoned in the front, looking almost like a fitted jacket. With her almost-white-blond hair and her sharp jawline, she reminded Naomi of Cruella de Vil, the antagonist from her favorite childhood movie, 101 Dalmatians.
Nina shut the door behind them. Naomi sat at her desk, and Corrinne sat opposite her.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Naomi asked, as Corrinne settled into her seat.
“I’m sorry to drop in unannounced,” Corrinne said, without a trace of remorse.
“You caught me at a good time.”
“I wanted to congratulate you on your entrance into the presidential race.”
“Oh, … thank you.”
“We’re both Democrats, technically opponents, but ultimately on the same side.”
Naomi nodded.
Corrinne sat ramrod straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her head was perfectly level, as if she were balancing a book on top of it. “It’s important that we conduct ourselves with dignity. If the Republicans detect any infighting, they’ll use it to their advantage. How we conduct our campaigns is just as important as whether or not we win. We fight hard, but we don’t take cheap shots at each other, and, when the dust settles, the winner lends a helping hand to their Democratic opponents.”
“I plan to run an honest campaign, but I won’t pull any punches.”
Corrinne pursed her lips. “If you attack me, I’ll bury you. If you play nice, I might have a cabinet position for you when this is over. For your sake, I hope you choose wisely.”
Naomi smirked. “I’m touched that you’re so concerned for my well-being.”
37
Derek and the First Cold Morning
His breath condensed in the cold air. It was the first cold morning since last winter. Derek drove his tractor to the mailbox, his crutches by his side. He climbed down from the tractor, one-legged, opened the box, grabbed the mail, and climbed back onto the seat.
He sat there in the cold morning air, flipping through his mail. One was a past due notice from the Bank of China. He was late on his mortgage. He wasn’t surprised. He’d already been dinged five points on his social credit score. His score was still a respectable 73, but, with his future mortgage default and repossession, he expected to lose at least thirty more points.
When that happened, he’d lose the farm, and his only remaining income would be UBI, which would be reduced to reflect his diminished SCS. A score of 43 was low but about average for the poor, and yet still above subsistence level … barely.
Derek shoved the mail in his jacket pocket and turned the tractor. Midturn, he stopped, something in the distance catching his eye. Smoke. It looked like it was coming from Hillside Grove, the apartment building where Carlos and Ricky lived. He drove on the road, toward the smoke.
As he moved closer, his initial concern was correct. The six-story Hillside Grove Apartments building was on fire. Wood furniture crackled, and glass shattered, and smoke poured from the broken windows. Thankfully, the outer walls were concrete. People clustered on tiny six-by-six balconies, screaming and begging for help.
The balconies were supported by steel cables attached to the building, and the railings were wrought iron, but the balcony floors were wood. Derek knew those balconies would eventually catch fire, burning the people alive or forcing them to jump.
About fifty people stood in the parking lot at a safe distance, in various stages of dress, some wearing their pajamas and stocking feet; others had the wherewithal to step into their boots and to grab their jackets. Parents held their crying children. A few adults sobbed, watching what little they had burn. Some coughed from smoke inhalation. Some hugged themselves, shivering from the cold.
Derek scanned the crowd on the ground and the residents stuck on the balconies, looking for Ricky and Carlos, but saw neither. He stopped his tractor next to two young men wearing sweats and hopped down one-legged. “Where’s the fire department?”
One of them, a swarthy and stocky man, shook his head. “They said they got three other fires.”
The other, a muscular bearded man said, “It’s fuckin’ bullshit.”
The stocky man continued, “I guess they’re comin’. I think the furnace blew. Fire started in the basement. People on the ground floor got out, and some people on the second floor jumped off their balconies. I was on the second floor.”
Desperate calls for help came from the balconies. Derek noticed that the remaining people on the second-floor balconies were elderly, but the upper floor balconies had men and women of all ages and were much more crowded.
“We need to help them,” Derek said.
“The fire department’s comin’,” the stocky man said. “We can’t do nothin’.”
“Is there a ladder here?”
“If there is one, it’s in the basement.”
Derek thought about his fourteen-foot orchard ladder. “My farm is over there, on the hill. With the gravel driveway and the deer fence.” Derek pointed t
o his property. “I have a ladder leanin’ against the barn. Anybody drive a pickup?”
The bearded man raised his hand and said, “I do.”
“Drive over there and bring it back.”
The bearded man didn’t move.
“Go!”
He hurried off, leaving the stocky man.
Derek looked at the stocky man, thinking he looked strong enough for the job. “How are you with heights?”
The man cocked his head in confusion.
Derek pointed to the front-end loader on his tractor. “That goes up about twelve feet. We could get those old people off the second-floor balconies easy. You up for it?”
He looked around, apprehensive. “What about the ladder?”
“That’s for higher up.”
“I thought we’d run up there and put the ladder in place, let people climb down on their own. I don’t think it’s safe to get close to the building.”
Derek glanced at the flames and the smoke pouring from the windows, also thinking that it wasn’t safe to be near the building. Derek stood up on his tractor and shouted, pointing toward the balconies, “I need someone strong to help get those people down.”
The people in their pajamas looked at Derek like he was insane. Many of them huddled with their families, comforting each other, still reeling from their brush with death, not interested in tempting fate again.
“What the hell’s wrong with you people? Your neighbors are dyin’,” Derek said.
“I’ll try,” the stocky man said, his shame overpowering his primal need for safety.
They drove toward the inferno in the tractor, Derek in the captain’s chair and the stocky man on a running board.
“What’s your name?” Derek asked.
“Gino.”
2050: Psycho Island Page 14