Blue

by Lou Aronica

  “Not always, no. Certainly not in the early years. I think it’s safe to say that your father was the one man I allowed to sweep me away.” She thought about the sensation of flying that came to her when she closed her eyes that morning on the swings.

  Then she shrugged. “Look how that turned out.”

  Polly caught the glimpse of a smirk on Becky’s face before Becky took another drink. “The sweeping away part must have been fun, though.”

  “It was fun. Then it wasn’t. The first part didn’t compensate for the second, I’m afraid.”

  “And you think it’s always that way?”

  Polly nodded. “I don’t think it’s worth finding out if there are any exceptions to the rule.”

  Becky put the lid back on her latte. “That sucks.”

  Polly still hadn’t grown accustomed to hearing phrases like that come from her daughter’s mouth. “It doesn’t, actually. It’s just a fact of life that you have to deal with.”

  Becky turned away slightly, looking off at others in the Starbucks. “Sounds like tons of fun.”

  “So how do you know Lisa?” Chris said to the dark-haired, gray-eyed woman named Celia sitting across from him in the restaurant. They’d already covered weather and traffic and he figured they’d get to current events before their entrees arrived.

  “She sold my house eight months ago when my marriage broke up, and we’ve stayed in touch. We talked last week and she told me she had a guy she wanted me to meet. I decided to take her up on it, and now we’re here.”

  Lisa was obviously a full-service broker. Chris hoped she at least got Celia a good price for the house.

  “Well, it’s nice of you to come out to meet me. I find these things a little unnerving myself.”

  “I know what you mean,” Celia said conspiratorially. “I promise I’m not dangerous, though.”

  Chris smiled. Lisa certainly had excellent taste when it came to women. Like so many of the others—a couple dozen at least at this point—Celia was attractive and bright and certainly seemed perfectly normal on the surface. It was unusual for Chris to leave one of these connections wondering what Lisa was thinking. Still, his blind dates rarely led to second dates.

  “What do you do for a living, Chris?”

  “I’m in the genetic engineering field.”

  “Really? That sounds intriguing.”

  “It was when I was actually involved in lab work. Back then, it was amazing on a daily basis. The idea of nudging the natural order of things to create something that still fit into the natural order of things was endlessly fascinating to me.”

  Celia’s eyes grew wide. They were very pretty eyes. “You didn’t work on humans, did you?”

  Chris laughed. “No, nothing like that. Trees and plants. Altering strains to make them more resistant to disease, that sort of thing.”

  Celia leaned forward and said suggestively, “So you’re not a mad scientist.”

  “At this point, actually, I’m not any kind of scientist. I’m a functionary now, a pencil pusher, a suit. I got kicked upstairs and now instead of doing the thing I love, I get to have a lot of meetings about other people doing the thing I love.”

  Celia frowned in a way that Chris interpreted to be sympathetic. “You can’t go back downstairs?”

  “The stairway doesn’t run in that direction. I’m afraid the only way out at this point is through the window—and I work on the sixth floor.”

  Celia’s expression changed. Her brow creased slightly and she sat back in her chair and looked around the restaurant. She studied the menu in front of her. “I’m surprised the waiter hasn’t come to take our order yet.”

  They were onto top news stories after that: the president’s latest speech, the economy, a remarkable rescue in the Arizona desert. It took them up to their entrees, and when the waiter delivered them, Celia looked at her meal and exhaled deeply. They ate quietly for a while, only asking each other if they liked their food.

  “So, Chris, what you do you do for fun?”

  “I used to like going for long drives with my daughter, but she doesn’t really want to do that anymore.”

  “Does that mean you can no longer do them, either?”

  Chris shrugged. “I could, I guess. It wouldn’t feel the same without her.”

  “What else?”

  “I like going to restaurants.”

  Celia looked down at her plate and smirked. He had no idea how to interpret that.

  “And I like being outside.”

  “Camping, hiking, that sort of thing?”

  Chris thought about this for a moment. “Not really. Just being outside, actually. Walking, taking in the air. I just like feeling the world, if that makes any sense. I haven’t been camping since Becky and I—”

  Celia examined him. “Becky?”

  “My daughter.”

  “What were you saying about her?”

  This wasn’t the right place to go with this conversation. Chris couldn’t say with any certainty that he knew the right place to go, but he definitely recognized the wrong one. “No, never mind. No, not camping and hiking.”

  The date was over maybe twenty minutes later. Chris walked Celia to her car, thanked her for spending time with him, and watched her drive off. There was no discussion about seeing each other again.

  Why do I go on these things? he thought as he went back to his car. He was obviously awful at it. Yet he continued to allow Lisa to set him up. Coming here tonight, he had no sense of anticipation, no inkling that a new future was about to start for him. This date was a slot on his calendar, a meeting to attend. Celia seemed very pleasant, but he never for a second thought anything was going to happen between them.

  Which brought him back to his first question: Why do I go on these things? He didn’t have a satisfactory answer. He didn’t have an answer at all. It was probably time to tell Lisa to take on a different lost cause.

  5

  “Your Majesty, the minister has arrived.”

  Miea looked up from her desk, where she had been focusing on the details of a diplomatic agreement with the Maurelle. She thanked Sorbus and reached for the folder of briefing documents Thuja had been providing her since her trip to Jonrae. The minister had requested this time to meet with her even though her next official briefing was only two days away. This made her both curious and apprehensive. Maybe he was coming simply because she had finally managed to convince the man how important it was to keep her fully apprised.

  When Miea entered the conference room, Thuja stood to greet her, his tone grim but obsequious. She didn’t notice immediately that there was another man behind him. However, when Thuja sat, Miea’s knees nearly buckled.

  “Your Majesty, I would like to introduce you to Dyson Specta. He has worked very closely with me for the past year and I’ve assigned him to be your direct liaison on all matters regarding my office. I promise you, he is at least as well-informed about our kingdom’s agriculture as I am. Well, maybe almost as well-informed.”

  Thuja chuckled at his little joke, but Miea barely noticed. Her eyes held Dyson’s for a moment and in this time she was back in the courtyard, catching a glimpse of his concerned expression as she kissed him and turned to go to the administration building. She hadn’t seen him since then; she wasn’t able to say good-bye before Amelan whisked her away. And after that . . . well, after that, nothing was as it had been before.

  Gathering herself quickly because she wasn’t sure what would happen if she looked at the man she once loved any longer, she turned and said to Thuja, “Thank you, Minister. I trust the information flow will be considerably better in the future.”

  “As indeed it must be, I’m afraid. Your Majesty, I’ve come with grim news.” The minister looked down at his papers, though it was obvious he knew what he was going to say. As, sadly, did Miea. “The diseased foliage in Jonrae is spreading quite precipitously. Nearly two-thirds of the lolo plantings and a large percentage of chugach and gunnison have bee
n devastated. Given the speed with which the disease is spreading and the near-total destruction of the afflicted plants, we must now assume that a blight is in fact upon us.”

  Though she had braced for the news, though she had anticipated it for weeks, Miea still found herself shaken by Thuja’s words. “What do we know?”

  Thuja turned to Dyson and the younger man spoke up. “Leaves and stems of all affected species exhibit green banding that lasts anywhere between ten days and two weeks. From there, the bands fade and necrosis sets in nearly immediately. The plants wither and die within days after that. Tests run on the root systems of dead plants indicate that the roots are being choked off, as though something invasive is choking them off.”

  Miea absorbed this new information. “What could cause something like this?”

  She addressed the question to Thuja, still unsure of how to speak to Dyson. The minister answered. “That’s one of many perplexing questions at the moment, Your Majesty. There are many possibilities, but we have run every conceivable test and have come up with nothing. There is nothing in the soil, in the air, or in any of the plants themselves to give us any inkling as to the cause of this disease.”

  “Just like the last time,” Miea said softly. Both Thuja and Dyson bowed their heads. The cause of the Great Blight was one of the enduring mysteries, chilling in that its lack of a solution meant there was no way to prevent it from returning.

  “We are seeking counsel from other departments,” Thuja said. “It is possible that a different perspective will provide information we have overlooked.”

  “Meanwhile the blight spreads.”

  “I’m afraid this is the other thing we need to discuss, Your Majesty. We know from experience that if this blight goes unchecked it could reach all parts of the kingdom. We obviously can’t allow that.”

  “But we also know from experience that attempts to contain the disease failed the last time.”

  “The kingdom chose to avoid certain measures last time,” Thuja said gravely.

  Miea narrowed her eyes. “What measures were those?”

  “Your parents were steadfastly and vociferously opposed to the sterilization of afflicted areas, but—”

  “Sterilization? You mean denuding the entire region?”

  “If we sterilize the area, it is likely the disease will die in the process.”

  “But there are plants in Jonrae that exist nowhere else in Tamarisk. There are living beings in Jonrae that exist nowhere else in Tamarisk and cannot survive without these plants.”

  “That means they are likely to die anyway.”

  Miea could barely comprehend what Thuja was saying. She turned to Dyson. “Do you agree with this suggestion?” she said sharply.

  Dyson seemed shocked that the question came to him directly. What was he thinking about any of this, anyway? He turned toward Thuja, who held up a hand.

  “Your Majesty,” Thuja said, “I have discussed the topic extensively with my staff. This is my recommendation to you.”

  Miea stiffened. “I will not authorize this today.”

  Thuja nodded his head sagely. “Every day we delay, the disease spreads. Soon you may be forced to make a decision even more difficult.”

  “Surely you didn’t expect me to simply agree to this,” Miea said without attempting to mask her irritation. “What data did you bring me?”

  Thuja reached next to Dyson and picked up a folder. He handed it to Miea. “Everything is in here, Your Majesty. I don’t think you will learn anything from this folder to contradict my recommendation. You must know I wouldn’t make it if I believed there was any alternative.”

  Miea took the folder and stared down at it without opening it, as though willing some revelation to appear inside. “I will study this carefully. You will have my answer tomorrow.”

  Miea stood and Thuja and Dyson quickly joined her. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” the minister said. He offered a shallow bow and moved toward the door.

  Dyson passed directly in front of her. Their eyes met again for another instant. In that moment, Miea wanted to ask him to stay behind, to help her make sense of this briefing and maybe bridge the gulf of years between them. Then he, too, bowed—much more deeply than Thuja—and said, “Thank you, Your Majesty.” With that, he turned away.

  Miea felt energy seep away from her as the two men receded. Rather than returning to her office, Miea informed Sorbus that she needed to postpone her next meeting. She went to her chambers, still clutching the folder, sat heavily on her sofa, and closed her eyes.

  Thuja wanted her to sterilize the area, to eradicate all life from the region. To wipe the chapleau and the seapowet from existence, all in the hope that doing so would save every other species.

  Miea flashed again on her days working the fields in Jonrae. She had never felt closer to her land, never more in touch with the life force of her world. Now she needed to decide whether to snuff an irreplaceable part of that life force out forever.

  Alone in her chamber, alone in her kingdom, alone in the universe, Miea searched desperately for some other solution.

  For the first time in recent memory, Chris resolved to put everything aside.

  She’s fourteen. How many more days alone with her do you think you’re going to have?

  It was an inarguable fact that Becky was moving on, and even if he and Polly hadn’t split up and even if things hadn’t spiraled away from him in the ensuing years, Becky would still be moving on. There was nothing he could do and nothing he could ever have done to change that. Becky’s world was a different one now, a world of friends and appointments and—imminently, though he shuddered to think about it—dates. Today, an all-too-rare confluence of events gave him an entire Saturday alone with his daughter. Lonnie was out of town, others were busy, no one was having a party or any kind of gathering that night, and Polly didn’t throw him a last-minute curve. It really was just him and Becky for once. He wasn’t going to screw it up.

  The weather was gorgeous: low seventies, cloudless, the faintest breeze. It was an ideal day for a drive up the Connecticut River Valley. Becky loved the Colonial-era towns in that area with their mix of early American flavor and contemporary small-town independence. They’d spend the day exploring craft shops and antique stores, maybe walk along the river for a while, and grab something to eat in one of a dozen excellent restaurants. He didn’t mention any of this to Becky ahead of time—it was nearly impossible to have a conversation of any length with her on a Friday night— but he knew she would be up for it.

  “A drive? Sure, that would be great,” Becky said as they pulled out of the neighborhood.

  “We’ll go up and walk around for a while, maybe have an early dinner someplace.”

  Becky took a deep breath, but didn’t otherwise react.

  “Is that okay with you?” Chris said.

  “Yeah, yeah, it’s fine.”

  “You don’t have anything planned today, right?”

  “No, nothing.”

  He frowned. “The way you reacted made it seem like maybe you didn’t want to be away that long.”

  “No, no, it’s fine. I’m just a little tired.”

  Chris was convinced that “tired” was code for something else. “Were you out late last night?”

  “Not too late. I don’t know; it was a crazy week at school. I’m just a little beat.”

  He wasn’t going to do this if he was only going to be entertaining himself. “We can stick around town if you’d rather not make the trip.”

  Becky took a second before answering. “No, let’s go.” She hesitated again. “It’ll be fun.”

  They didn’t talk much on the ride up. Becky chose the music, something surprisingly quiet, and spent most of the time looking out the side window. Chris didn’t want to think what he usually thought—that her attitude had something to do with him—but it was difficult to break this particular habit. Still, he fought through it.

  Chris remembered a Saturday morning when B
ecky was seven years old. It had been a brutal week at work; the company was in the midst of reorganization and Chris needed to make some difficult decisions regarding the people on his team. On top of that, his relationship with Polly had gotten to the point where she often put him in a terrible mood before noon on the weekends. As much as he tried not to let Becky see this, he obviously failed on this particular instance because she called him on it.

  “Did I do something wrong?” she said.

  The question confused Chris. “No, of course not. Why did you say that?”

  “You seem pretty angry. I thought maybe I did something.”

  Chris shook himself. This was the last possible message he wanted to send his daughter. “Absolutely not. I’m just upset about something at work.”

  “But you don’t work on Saturdays.”

  Chris nodded. “That’s true. But sometimes people take their bad weeks home with them. They shouldn’t do that, but sometimes they do. I’ll tell you what: Put your finger right here.” He pointed to a spot in the center of his forehead. Becky did what he asked and he rewarded her with a huge smile. “Thanks. You just pressed my reset button.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s something that fixes whatever is wrong and makes me go back to the way I normally am.”

  Becky touched his forehead again, grinned, and then touched her own. “Do I have one, too?”

  “Yep, same place.” Chris reached out and touched his thumb to her “reset button.”

  “But I wasn’t in a bad mood.”

  “I was just making sure it was there.”

  After that day, while he still lived in the house, they pressed each other’s reset buttons on several occasions. It didn’t always work with Becky—especially if something had happened with one of her friends—but it always let her know that he knew something was disturbing her and that he was ready to help. He hadn’t tried doing it in a very long time, one of many things his instincts told him to avoid. He wondered, though, if it might be called for today.