by Mike Chen
“The school has a government directive to monitor for any potential PASD-related issues impacting the children. This does...” Ms. Eswara peeked in on her class, then focused back on Krista. “The board has issued a directive to Mr. Donelly. But it’s not my place to tell her the truth.”
The brown of Ms. Eswara’s eyes maintained their calm poise, followed by her entire demeanor. But poise in this case meant inaction, and inaction didn’t help anyone. Countless adults had failed Krista during her childhood through inaction, and that was one family tradition she fully intended on breaking. “Screw it. I’m calling Rob.”
“Please. Don’t.”
“Fine. Then I’ll tell her myself.”
A hand grabbed Krista’s arm, the grip so authoritarian that she got flashbacks from her own elementary school days. “If you tell her, it’ll cause a whole new set of problems. It’s up to the primary caregiver to do it.”
Ms. Eswara’s tone seemed so clinical that Krista was reminded of the failed counseling sessions of her teens. One quick look around the school, with cartoon characters emphasizing safety and security up and down the halls, re-aligned her compass to the realities of this world. “This isn’t like the Tooth Fairy. I mean, this is...” There weren’t too many times in Krista’s adult life when she was at a loss for words, but in that moment, standing outside of a first-grade classroom with the teacher of a little girl she didn’t even know several weeks ago, no clever words came to mind. “This is fucked up.”
The hand let go and Ms. Eswara laughed, her black hair twisting as she shook her head. “I know we all deal with this new life a little differently. You’d be surprised. I’ve actually heard worse.”
“And you’ve managed to not punch anyone?”
“Barely.”
Krista nodded, though it didn’t mean that she agreed with Ms. Eswara. In fact, a certainty screamed out from her gut; she knew the right thing to do, of course she did, and better than Sunny’s father or teacher. Maybe not right this second—it could wait a few hours—but soon, soon she’d look out for Sunny the right way—the way no adult in Krista’s life ever had. No words came out, though unlike earlier this silence was by choice.
Ms. Eswara motioned her to come back inside.
Krista nodded, though her thoughts were elsewhere.
Only forward. Never back. And definitely never paused.
Chapter Thirty-One
Moira
Though she’d originally planned on a quiet evening with Frank, Rob’s news gripped Moira’s mind, coloring her every thought. He’d left the office early, offering a smile but defeat locked into the air around him. Moira told him that he could call, that he should call if he needed to.
In the meantime, she needed to run. But not like before. She moved comfortably on autopilot. Her feet met pavement, her breath steady, but all the while she suppressed the urge to sprint off and climb through the urban decay that lay beyond the border.
That instinct was probably going to linger for a while. After they’d moved into the UC Davis campus, Santiago would tell Moira that she was getting soft, that her parkour skills were getting rusty. He’d offered to help her practice with nearly an entire city at their disposal. Yet she’d constantly turned it down once the real world started crawling back over the horizon. And now she would have given anything to take a hard left down an alley full of obstacles, and push her body to its limit.
But she didn’t, instead completing her route, a five-mile dash by the businesses and homes that had settled into an eerie quiet. Though she couldn’t stay in the apartment with Frank another minute, she at least remained in character, the new version of herself, reinvented once again to finally strip away any lingering traces of her survivalist self. Frank had offered to go with her, thinking it was a training run like they usually did on the weekends. She shut the suggestion down quick, though. No need for the additional burden of masking her thoughts. Run, refresh, then reboot her life tomorrow.
That was the plan, anyway, until she stepped into a corner market and looked up at the small shop’s TV. It wasn’t President Hersh again, or anyone who announced world-ending news.
For her, it was worse.
“Friends, I am here to tell you that the search for MoJo is almost over.” The woman running the drugstore checkout register looked up in midtransaction, halfway through a carbon copy swipe. The man in front of Moira nodded, his face taking a curious turn. The ten or fifteen people lingering around all went quiet and gravitated toward the hanging television in the corner. Moira adjusted her posture, fingers gripping a sports drink as she wiped sweat off her forehead, the mere sound of his voice draining blood from her face.
“I am humbled and overwhelmed by your support,” her dad said. The label on the bottom of the screen noted that the shot was live, and judging by the dusk colors behind him, that was true. “I can’t say for certain who has earned the reward just yet. There are several tips that we’re still finalizing. But I am so thankful that I made it to San Francisco before the lockdown commenced. I look forward to seeing my beloved daughter again.”
From her back pocket, Moira’s phone buzzed. She pulled it out, hoping it was Rob. But it was a text message from Frank checking in.
How’s your run? Everything okay out there?
She was late. Too much time with her own thoughts.
The register dinged and Moira moved up in line. She put the sports drink on the counter and handed over two quarters. “Keep the change,” she said. The clerk nodded, and Moira stepped outside, taking a long drink before assessing the surrounding area.
Like in the store, San Francisco appeared calm. No sirens blaring in the background, no fires lighting up the night sky, no sounds of broken glass ravaging the evening.
Things were normal, at least on the surface.
Good, she typed, just stopping for a quick drink. Be home soon.
The message fired off, and Frank’s reply came in seconds.
Great. See you soon. Love you.
Moira finished off the bottle and took one more look around. Should she call Rob? Text him? Show him some measure of support? But she decided against it; there was such a thing as being too involved. He knew he could call her; she’d told him as much.
She slid her phone back in her pocket. She stretched her hamstrings for several seconds, then began a light cooldown jog back to the apartment, wishing the path had rubble or hurdles or something else to vault over.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Rob
Daylight had just begun its transition to the purple hue of sunset, tinting Rob’s vision as he looked out the front window. A rumble came from down the street, and Krista’s sedan rolled up, pulling alongside the sidewalk.
The overwhelming petrification from several hours ago dissipated as reality set in, leaving an uncertain path ahead. The core truth of it all was that he had one month to figure out how to win an appeal.
One month. A lot could happen in one month. But at the same time, keeping it from Sunny didn’t seem like the best idea.
Look where deception had got them in the first place.
Should he tell her now? Should he wait until after an appeal? Who would even help an appeal?
“Before I left? I’m not going anywhere,” Krista said, her voice audible as she helped Sunny get out of the car.
“Oh. I thought you were going to see your uncle.” Sunny’s softer voice still came through, then Rob had to interpret the muffled sounds into words.
“Uncle Dean? Um, he and I don’t get along very well.”
“I don’t get it. I thought you said you were going to see him soon—”
“Okay, I see. No, Sunny, I’m staying right here in San Francisco. I just meant that he’d be on TV a lot.” They walked up the driveway, and Rob debated opening the door to greet them.
“Oh,” Sunny said. She stopped
just short of the porch.
Krista knelt down next to her. “You sound disappointed.”
“Well, if you were going to see your uncle, I was going to have you ask him something. But that’s okay.”
“I don’t want to talk to him. But you’re welcome to call. St. Vincent’s Seattle is publicly listed.” Rob detected a sarcasm that Sunny didn’t seem to get, judging by her pursed lips.
“Hey,” Rob said as he opened the door. Krista shot a tense look his way. They’d just been at the school; did Ms. Eswara tell her about the audit findings? “Sun, I have to talk with Krista about some grown-up stuff. Can you hang out in your room for a little bit?”
“I was gonna show Krista my bunny.”
“You can show her after. Okay?” He looked over at Krista, whose expression hadn’t shifted from its harsh angles and unblinking glare. “I’ll get you when we’re done.” Sunny grunted a reluctant approval and Rob nodded toward the kitchen. “I heard from the Board,” he said quietly while they walked together. He leaned against the counter and waited for the sound of Sunny’s footsteps all the way upstairs, then everything came out.
During the entire explanation, Krista’s face didn’t change at all. Sympathy, empathy, horror, none of it arrived. Just a silent fury etched like stone, only her eyes moving while she tracked him.
“So I don’t know what to do,” he said.
“I know what you should do. Tell Sunny the goddamn truth. Right now.”
“I’m debating whether to wait after the appeal process—”
“Not that truth. The truth about her mother. What the hell are you thinking?”
Krista’s words punched him. She knew. What did Sunny tell her? When did she know? “Shhh, keep your voice down.”
“That’s right,” Krista said, her voice lowering but keeping its sharp tone, “we wouldn’t want her to accidentally learn that her mom is dead. Dead, Rob. Elena is dead. Five billion people died, and Elena was one of them. Get over—” She stopped, her body lurching as if it took all of her strength to not finish that sentence. “This is really, really bad.”
Her words took breath after breath away from him. “I know I need to tell her. I’ve tried. I tried again right after we met you, actually. It’s not exactly easy to explain.”
“You’re the adult. You’re supposed to guide her through it. Not just pretend like it never happened. You know why she thinks weddings are cool? She wants to throw a secret wedding when Elena ‘gets better.’ Cute, huh? It’d be really cute if it were true. So, you’ll crush her twice—first, when she realizes that, surprise, her mom is dead, and second, this wonderful thing that she’s been constructing in her mind to greet her mom will be all for nothing. Instead, she gets a double whammy of crap.” Her response came at an unflinching speed, one that was so flippant Rob wondered if Krista even knew what she said. “All I needed as a kid was an adult willing to see the truth. How could you do this to her?”
He put his palm up. “I appreciate your concern,” he said, his voice filled with the tone of a hostage negotiator, “but you weren’t there in quarantine. You didn’t have to make the choice.”
“I am so tired of selfish parents. I’ve seen it my whole life. Is there a single goddamn parent in the world who does the right thing?”
Rob heard her words, but told himself not to get into a sparring battle with Krista’s own projected demons. I got into fights at school all the time, she’d said in the elevator. Shitty family, stupid parents, the works. Look at me, I’m a perfectly well-adjusted adult. “Krista. I’m not your parents. Don’t lump me in the same category—”
“You don’t know a thing about my family. But I’ve seen people like you. Hiding behind whatever because you can’t make the right decision. Tell her. Tell her now before your bullshit causes any more collateral damage.”
“What the hell do you know about this? You just met us a few weeks ago.”
“And you paid me to hang out with your daughter. So who’s more fucked up, huh? At least I can tell right from wrong.”
“Jesus, Krista, is everything so black and white in your world? Look around us. Look what’s happening—”
Rob stopped when he heard the floorboards squeak. He turned his head, Krista mirroring his actions, to find Sunny standing in the doorway.
“Daddy, I wanted some water.”
“Good timing.” Krista walked over and gave Sunny a pat. She stared straight at Rob, then nodded at Sunny. “Now,” she mouthed to him, though he shook his head no.
“Sunny,” Krista said, her voice suddenly filled with professional calm. “I really think you should tell your dad about the wedding you wanted to plan. It’s pretty...intense.”
Sunny’s defiant expression altered to wide eyes and dropped jaw before reversing, then finally a bitter frown and flushed cheeks. “You were supposed to be on my side.”
“Sunny, I am. But I’m an adult, and I know the right thing to do.” She fired a glare up at Rob “You really should tell your dad about it. He needs to know.”
“No, he doesn’t! It’s a surprise! It’ll make him happy!” Sunny ended the final word of each sentence with a stomp.
“Sunny,” Rob said, “be polite. Krista is our guest.”
“No, she’s not. She’s a poop head.”
The term poop head was probably meant to be the worst insult Sunny could possibly conjure up; Rob had heard it before and told her that wasn’t a kind phrase. Krista reacted with a reflexive laugh, one that she stopped right away, but the damage was done. The redness spread from Sunny’s cheeks, and her bottom lip jutted out. Her shoulders bobbed from deep breaths, and she didn’t blink.
“I’m sorry, Sunny. I didn’t mean to laugh. Can you forgive me?” Sunny shook her head no, then continued the death stares at both of them. “Okay, look. Sunny, there’s something you should tell your dad. Rob, there’s something you need to tell your daughter. Right? Clear the air. And...go!” Her fingers snapped. “Go!” she said, repeating the snap, but no one moved. “Oh, Jesus, Rob. Now’s the time. No more mommy secrets.”
“Krista, don’t.” He knew she was right. She was right about all of it, how everything stemmed from one decision years ago, something that rippled outward as lie upon lie tapped against the trajectory of their lives, ultimately changing its course one degree at a time.
She just had a really terrible bedside manner.
“If you have any ounce of caring in you for Sunny, you will stop right now and let me figure out what is happening,” he said.
“The world is going to shit again. Do you want to enter another possible quarantine with this on your head?”
“This is not the time. How can you not see that? How many kids have you raised, Krista? Tell me that.”
“One.” The word came out louder than it needed to be, and Krista’s tough exterior cracked, a vulnerability in her eyes betraying the fury on the rest of her face. “Myself. And I know what I needed back then. Someone to speak the goddamn truth. All these people, going to support groups and the Family Stability Board and all that trauma crap? It’s bullshit. You fight for it. You stop being weak and you fight for every damn inch until people stop bullshitting you.”
“The world is not so simple. Sunny is not you. I’m not your parents. Stop projecting your own issues onto—”
“Stop it!” Sunny’s scream carried a force stronger than either of the adults in the room. “Stop fighting right now. Grown-ups should know better!” Sunny marched upstairs, each step an exaggerated stomp causing a vibration to ripple through the hardwood floorboards. A lifetime of silence seemed to pass after Sunny slammed the door upstairs. Rob’s lips turned inward and flattened into a colorless line.
“Sunny,” Krista called, turning to pursue her.
“Don’t. You can’t talk to kids like this. They need time. Jesus, have some common sense.”
&nbs
p; “No, I’m doing this now.”
The sheer stubbornness triggered something in Rob, the single grain that caused an internal implosion after weeks of the Family Stability Board, support groups, fear chipping away at it. And now this. “Stop.” Rather than being a full-force attack, Rob’s voice changed to an eerie low tone. “You need to leave.”
Krista turned, flushed cheeks and flared brows. “Why, so you can fuck things up again?”
Any sense of calm evaporated. “Get out of this house, get out of our lives, and stay away from Sunny. You’re not her parent.”
“Fine. You’re the one living in your fantasy world.”
“Right, let me listen to the wedding planner on breaking devastating news to a seven-year-old. You’re not always right. And you don’t know everything.” He aimed for the nerve. “You can’t fix your own broken childhood, so you try to steal Sunny’s?”
For just a flash, Krista’s posture sank, her shoulders shivering, and she turned quickly when he noticed a welling of tears in her eyes. Then everything tensed up again, her words coming out at a quick clip, as if she wanted to say something for the sheer purpose of covering up whatever her truth might be.
“Forget it. I’m done. I don’t need you guys. Thanks for the gig. Goodbye.” Her heels clicked as she began marching to the front door. “You know what might have happened if your head wasn’t so far up your ass? If you weren’t so hung up on someone who’s dead, you probably could have talked to Moira way before she met Frank, and maybe she’d be singing shitty songs to Sunny every night. Ever think of that?”
“Moira—”
“Stop.” Krista threw her hand up. “Moira’s getting married tomorrow. Something to consider when you think about why you won’t take off your own wedding ring.” She began to stomp out, nose in the air. The door swung open with a harsh brush of air, and she turned. Rob braced himself for one last parting show when something caused her to look up.