Love Gone Viral

by Meg Napier

  “Well, go peek. They’re not looking anymore,” Dad urged. But then we all heard the sound of the car starting up and it crunched the gravel on the way out.

  “She gave up!” Saul cried, astonished.

  “Hey!” said Dad, pleased. “Philip for the win! Now what are we going to do to amuse ourselves?”

  Philip appeared on the back deck and craned his head to see what I was looking at.

  Saul and Dad looked down at him, unabashed. “Hi,” Philip said.

  “What did you say to chase her off?” Dad asked.

  “None of your business,” Philip said with immense dignity. “Saul, we’re going to need to rent another car to get home when you and Darren are ready.”

  “I’m on it, boss. What—two, three days?”

  “No hurry,” Philip said, smiling at me.

  Quarantine: My day 20, Day 21 (Saul), Day 16 (Darren), Day 12 (Dad)

  Today, Becky declared both Saul and Darren healthy enough to be released. The former invalids appeared on the back deck, a bit wobbly and pale but thrilled with their new views.

  “We’re out, boss,” Saul said. “We can head home whenever you’re ready.”

  Philip looked nonplussed. When Saul collapsed gratefully into a chair, Philip grabbed the excuse. “Let’s plan on sticking around a few more days. You guys can recover your strength, and we can help Joan care for her father.”

  Above us, as always on his balcony, Dad grumbled. “I’m fine, too.”

  Without looking, Philip called up as casually as if he was a member of the family. “You can’t come out until your fever is gone for three straight days.”

  I bit back my smile. Dad’s reply floated down from above.

  “That guy is lucky he’s good with a boat.”

  Mom was hanging out her window. “Can’t I come out now? Everyone’s okay.”

  “Mother!” I walked over to address her more directly. “You have two more days. Please don’t blow it now. Please?”

  “Oh, Joan. You are such a stickler for the rules.”

  “Too right, I am. Now just be calm. What do you want for dinner?”

  She thought about it. “Bring me some more clams. I’ll make clam chowder.”

  “I’ll make clam chowder,” I said sternly, despite her protests that I could never make it as well as she could. I turned my back on her, enjoying the ability to walk away from an argument with her for once. Social isolation was working out in my favor!

  When I turned back, I saw Darren beaming at me. “Come on over, honey,” he called. “Sit next to me.”

  This made the others on the deck uneasy. Saul announced that he was going to take a nap in the hammock. Philip looked at me with a kind sort of patience and said he was going to get ready to gather clams. They vanished, leaving me with nothing but a large, needy baby-man and two eavesdropping parents. Swell.

  “So. We’re alone at last,” Darren crooned.

  Yeah. Alone. Plus my father overhead and my mother, who had raised the screen and was leaning like a gargoyle out her window so she didn’t miss anything.

  “Darren—stop. I’ve got things to do.” I tried to put him gently from me, but he wasn’t in the mood to take no for an answer.

  “Come on, baby,” he cajoled. “I’ve been locked up and alone for weeks. Longest I’ve ever gone since I was a kid!”

  Charming.

  “Darren. You don’t want to disturb my father. Right. Up. There.”

  He refused to take the hint.

  “I’ve been ill, sweetness. I might have died. How about you sit down here and show me some love? I could do with a little attention right about now. You know. Take care of me a little.”

  He favored me with what I’m sure he thought was an irresistible smile. Unfortunately for him, I found I was able to resist.

  “Get ‘im, Joanie,” my father whispered.

  My mother offered her opinion. “Well. That was like putting a match to the bomb. Stupid boy.”

  I rose to my feet. “Take care of you? Take CARE of you?”

  Darren blanched and held out his hands in a gesture of innocence. It did no good.

  “I have waited on you—on everyone—for all these weeks, you careless idiot. I have listened to you whine and brought you apple juice and taken dictation for the stupidest god-damned will I’ve ever heard of. The Metropolitan Museum does not want your collection of Scotch labels!”

  “But you said that was…”

  “I WAS LYING. You’re an idiot, Darren. A beautiful idiot.” I thought about it and then decided I wasn’t being fair. “That’s not right. You know what you are, Darren?”

  He blinked at me. I took that for his response.

  “You’re young. You’re just a child. And I’m too old to put up with children anymore. Goodbye, Darren.”

  He watched me as I sprinted for the dock, where Philip was just casting off.

  “Now you’re heading in the right direction,” my father crowed.

  “Darren, darling,” my mother called, “I think that nurse Becky likes you. Cheer up, honey.”

  I leapt as I reached the end of the dock and Philip caught me for a safe landing.

  “Hi,” I said, laughing. “Can I come with you?”

  He smiled in response and kissed my cheek. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m not sure I can find that clam bed.”

  “Let me take the wheel.”

  He acceded with good grace and let me drive him away from the madhouse and into the watery wild.

  The tide was in and the water was up to my waist when we started squishing around for clams, but the bay was deliciously cool and the sun warm on my shoulders. I felt as free as a bird.

  Philip was squishing away in the silt and sand, grinning at nothing. We were caught in a glassy, mirror-like blueness and I realized I couldn’t stop smiling either.

  He worked his way over to where I was fishing huge clams out of the sand. His toe reached out and brushed against mine and I turned to him.

  “It’s really just a fishing shack,” he said.

  “What is?” I moved into his arms.

  “My place in Montauk. I just didn’t want you to think I had some huge palace.” His clam bucket began to float away as he turned all his attention to me. “That’s what Kumiko wanted.”

  “Who cares what Kumiko wanted?” Who cared about anyone other than him? The gap between our bodies began to shrink.

  “I think you deserve to know I told Kumiko to tell my partners it was time for them to buy me out.”

  “You’re quitting?” Little else could have stopped me from moving in on him, but that did.

  “I’m changing. I’m going to see what I can do for the people of Little Hell. After that, well… I’ve got enough money. And there are other puzzles to solve.”

  Happiness rose up in me like a bubble. “Me, too. I mean—I’m going to quit, too.”

  “So we’ll change together?”

  “Yeah. Let’s.”

  “It’s too soon to tell you, Killer Joan, but I’m in love with you.”

  “Oh, Philip. Me, too. I mean—I love…”

  He stopped my words with a kiss that imprinted itself on my DNA. I wrapped myself around him in the water and he held me close like the most precious treasure.

  Hallelujah! There was a Coronavirus god after all.

  Lease on Love

  M. Spencer

  Chapter 1

  March 2020

  Alice normally tried to put herself in others’ shoes. She’d even have fun with it while she refilled customers’ growlers or poured the umpteenth sample for a gaggle of tourists who’d found the brewery on one of those “Off the Beaten Path” lists. Normally, when time allowed and the tasting room wasn’t swarmed with customers, she’d play the part codified in Cheers, dutifully listening with a clean rag tossed over her shoulder while the figure on the other side of the bar droned on about the latest headache with the landscaping crew or Little League coach.

  Nothing c
ould be classified as normal anymore.

  She attempted to look emotionless. “So you’re going to close the amenity spaces and stop all repairs but not going to modify rent. Is that what you’re saying?”

  Donna, the property manager, looked tired. No amount of concealer could hide the purple blotches under her eyes, nor was there any prescription to prevent the exasperated sigh that erupted from her lungs.

  “Yes, that’s what we’re saying. We have to follow the guidelines and ensure the safety of our residents and our staff.” Clearly, Donna had memorized this statement, as she said it without any hint of empathy.

  “But we pay for the gym and pool.” Alice immediately hated the whine in her tone.

  “Like I said, the spaces will be closed until further notice. Please follow the governor’s shelter-in-place order. Now, we’re closing the office at 3 today, so unless you have a package to pick up, there are other tenants who have questions.”

  Feeling like the bad kid dismissed from the principal’s office with another detention order, Alice slunk out. The rest of the staff didn’t spare her a glance. She’d navigated the bland building so many times that she knew the route, not needing to watch where she was going. Her mind raced through a series of questions and bellows of outrage: how am I going to pay? Will I get evicted? What does shelter-in-place mean? Will I get evicted? We’re still supposed to pay for things we can’t use! It’s not fair! What the ever-loving—

  “Oooof, excuse me!”

  Alice, in her anxiety-rattled mind prison, had bumped into what was now an irritated person. She reoriented herself and looked at the stranger. A taller, older woman with deep red hair and blue eyes behind glasses stared back at her. The stranger cleared her throat and looked down at her arm, and it was then that Alice realized she’d held on to the crook in the woman’s elbow.

  “Sorry, I didn’t want you to fall down,” she said sheepishly.

  “That’s OK. If you were wondering, your shoes are fine.”

  Alice raised an eyebrow, silently asking the question.

  “You were watching your feet carry you around. I used to tell interns that their shoes were fine so that they’d actually stand up straight when they walked. Dumb joke, I know.”

  Alice nodded. “I get it. Sorry, I’m having a rough day.”

  “I figured as much. I’m Meg, by the way. I would shake your hand but apparently that could be classified as an assault with a deadly weapon.”

  “I’m Alice, and I don’t know if you’ve been here long or are planning on moving in, but stay away from here if you don’t want to get screwed.”

  “So, you’ve talked to Donna, too.”

  “Yeah, and it…look, I’m sorry I knocked into you and I’m sorry for spewing my drama at you. You didn’t need that and probably have more important things to do.”

  “Like what?”

  Meg wasn’t a customer, so Alice could be honest. She allowed the smallest of smiles to creep on her face. “Like stocking up on red wine and hardcover books that you won’t read because they’re only to show your guests that you seem smart. Like broadcasting you read The Wall Street Journal but only reading the headlines and pretending you know what a dead-cat bounce is, besides being a grotesque term invented by coked-out dudes in badly tailored blazers in the bowels of the Goldman Sachs human sacrifice chamber. Like—”

  Meg reached out to her, gently placing a well-manicured hand on her shoulder. “You, my dear, need a friend.”

  “I have plenty of friends,” she petulantly replied.

  “Well, they’re not here and you’re hurting, and frankly I could use someone to talk to. At least let me fix you some tea.”

  “Are you some secret British nanny who ended up in suburban Maryland by accident?”

  “Not British, never been a nanny, but you could say I ended up here by accident. Come on, take the tea. At least we’ll have an interesting afternoon. We’re bound to have few of those left.”

  Meg turned and proceeded down the concrete stairs. Not knowing what else to do with herself, Alice followed.

  It wasn’t every day that Meg invited anyone over, let alone a twentysomething carrying a massive chip on her bony shoulder. Her apartment still had that freshly moved-in smell that never lingered. Hard to believe that after thirteen years of homeownership, she was back to haggling over lease terms and waiting for a grumpy handyman to check the water heater.

  Yes, ladies and gentlemen. The great Megyn Roberts had been chased out of her sprawling home and into a two-bedroom. Oh, how the mighty fall.

  She gestured for Alice to have a seat at the small round dining table with its corresponding set of antique mahogany chairs, sentimental keepsakes from her previous life.

  “How do you take your tea?” She placed the purple Le Creuset kettle on the burner and lit it, then got down two campaign mugs, the brilliant colors now faded to pastels. She’d included them in the move purely for sentimental reasons.

  “Um, to be honest, I don’t really drink tea. I’ll have it however you’re having yours.”

  Meg took out two bags of a calming tea blend of chamomile and lavender, placed them into the mugs and wrapped the strings around the handles, and then squirted two dollops of wildflower honey into the cups. Silence hung between them and Meg allowed it, giving Alice space to get comfortable in her home. It was, admittedly, austere: she hadn’t lived in the apartment long enough for the chaos of daily life to set in. Beige walls with a smattering of framed posters enhanced its lack of personality.

  Finally, Alice broke the silence. “How long have you lived here? I don’t think I’ve seen you around the neighborhood.”

  Meg turned from the stove and let her eyes travel over her visitor: wiry body, short hair obviously dyed black, silver stud in her nose. Meg saw a person who desperately needed someone to talk to, even if she was in denial.

  “Three months or so. I don’t get out much and I’m not the most neighborly person.”

  “And what do you do?”

  Meg couldn’t suppress the chuckle. “How long have you been in DC’s shadow?”

  Alice looked puzzled. “Almost ten years.”

  “So you’re aware that’s the most typical DC question.”

  “No, I hadn’t noticed. Probably because I’ve never lived or worked in DC. It’s always been out of my price range.”

  “Fair enough. From what I’ve noticed, though, asking people what they do is DC’s way of sizing up new folks. Money may or may not be power, but how a person makes money is a way of measuring their proximity to power. And to answer your question, I’m a consultant.”

  “That narrows it down.”

  “OK then. What do you do?”

  “I manage the tasting room at Locksmith Brewery. Part of my job is to pour beer for customers who can’t help but brag about their jobs. So yes, I’ve come across many consultants, and from what I can tell, anyone can be a consultant, especially young tech bros who have no business charging people for advice that any basic Reddit search will yield.”

  Before Meg could answer, the kettle whistled and she poured the boiling water into each mug before carrying them over to the table. She took her place across from Alice and noticed again that she had the smallest shoulders on which to carry such a massive chip. “Let it steep for a bit, plus it has to cool down.”

  She watched Alice slowly look around the apartment and notice the framed campaign posters hanging on the walls next to photos of her with past candidates and campaign staff. Alice then turned the mug and Meg saw recognition spread across her features. Meg had given her guest the mug from the campaign that put her on the map: a stunning upset in the late 90s of a U.S. Senate seat in Massachusetts. When Alice’s eyes darted to the mug in front of Meg, her jaw dropped: this mug was from an earlier campaign, one that had reshaped Georgia’s state legislature. Both prominently featured politicians now so famous that even someone as young as Alice would recognize the names.

  “You’re a political c
onsultant?”

  Meg recognized the indignation in Alice’s tone. “The tea should be ready,” she said and sipped the hot water, the steam fogging her glasses.

  Alice didn’t move, apparently still coming to terms with the realization that so-called swamp creatures are, for the most part, pleasant people. Meg let her: she’d had firsthand experience with the age-old adage that those who talk first lose. Though they weren’t negotiating anything, Meg had long ago made it her policy to be patient.

  Alice finally relaxed in her chair and raised the mug to her lips. “The tea’s good. Thank you,” she muttered.

  “You’re very welcome.”

  Alice tapped her fingers and Meg noticed the shiny black polish. Though her nails were short, they were clean and lacked jagged points. Almost elegant, she thought.

  “Why don’t you live closer to DC, then?” Alice finally asked.

  To answer that question would open her up to further, deeper discussion about her past, something Meg fiercely guarded. She needed to answer it in a way that turned the conversation back to Alice’s struggle at the leasing office. After choosing her words carefully, Meg landed on, “I needed a change of pace, and forgive me for saying so, but it seems like you need one, too.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The leasing office?”

  Alice shrugged. “I mean, what’s the point? I get it: we can’t be in close contact with people because of the virus, so it makes sense to close the gym, pool, and business center. Fine, I get it.”

  “But?”

  “But to not even consider adjusting the rent is unfair! And I know that life isn’t fair, and I sound like a spoiled brat, but I know this isn’t only going to affect me. I mean, yes, I’m already feeling the hurt: my hours have been cut and Mike at Locksmith is doing what he can to protect employees, but if the governor shuts down businesses like ours, I know a ton of people who are going to get screwed.”