W: The Planner, The Chosen

by Alexandra Swann

  “Yes, we do,” responded Kris, “You want to meet us at Enchanted Island at 10:00 A.M. so we can spend the day?”

  “That sounds good,” Karyn agreed, “That gives me time to get the kids out of bed and give them some breakfast before we leave for the park.”

  Faith was sitting close to her grandmother, and now she asked her in a low voice, but still loudly enough so that the other people at the table could hear, “Grandma, can Seth and I spend the night at your apartment tonight?” Sleepovers had been a regular occurrence when Karyn and Jeff had lived in Arizona—at least twice a month Faith and Seth spent the night at Janine’s and woke up in the morning to one of her signature breakfasts with fried eggs and bacon and sausage and biscuits and grits with melted butter. How would Janine explain to an eleven year old that her government-issued unit had rules that forbade overnight stays by any person under eighteen years of age—for any reason?

  Janine put her arm around Faith and squeezed her close, “Sweetie there is nothing in the world I would love more than to have you and Seth sleep over, but I can’t. We live in an apartment that is so tiny that you would not even have a bed, and we don’t have a kitchen anymore so there is no way I could fix breakfast for you. But tomorrow we will all go to the park together, and we will have the best time you ever saw. Okay?” She kissed Faith, and the young girl nodded in agreement, but disappointment was written all over the child’s face.

  Everyone said goodnight and Kris and her parents took the train back to their respective units.

  The next day, the fun started promptly at 10:15, when Karyn and Jeff arrived with the kids, who were appropriately attired in T-shirts and shorts worn over swim suits for the water-based activities. After hours of going through water rides and getting soaking wet just to air dry in the hot sun, both the adults and children were ready for a little quiet. Janine took Seth and Faith to ride the merry-go-round, and Jeff and Jim walked off to find a concession stand to buy ice cream. Kris and Karyn shared a bench and the shade of one leafy tree which for the moment was casting just enough shadow to make the bench tolerable.

  “What happened to Mom’s clock when she moved?” Karyn asked.

  “They got rid of it,” Kris answered. She had not thought about the clock for months. “Their unit is so small—Mom wasn’t exaggerating about not having a place for the kids to sleep. There’s no possible way that they could have taken it with them.”

  “I wish I had known. I would’ve loved to have gotten it for Faith. She loves grandfather clocks the way you used to. It would’ve been so great for her to have had it to pass on to her own kids.”

  “Honestly, I didn’t even think of that, Karyn. I wish that I had.” Kris was telling truth. She had always been so fixated on the idea that the clock would belong to her one day that she had never considered the possibility that her parents could ship it to Karyn and Faith. Now, she felt ashamed of her own selfishness.

  “So what do you think about this thing in the Gulf Coast?” Karyn changed the subject. “Isn’t that the strangest thing you have ever seen—all those people dying for no reason. Some of our friends at church think this is the first of the end-time plagues. It’s pretty scary.” She paused and waited for a response.

  Kris answered thoughtfully, “Did you know that Mississippi is the most religious state in the United States? It has more Christians of all ethnicities than any other state. Why would God send an end-time plague there and not on some place where most people are atheists?”

  “Like where?”

  “Like the Pacific Northwest, maybe. It is the most atheist part of the country. I don’t know; it just doesn’t make any sense….Keith thinks that it’s a government conspiracy—the government released some kind of poison to deliberately kill everybody.”

  “Keith thinks everything’s a government conspiracy.” Karyn shook her head and smiled, “How’s he doing anyway? Have you heard from him lately?”

  “Yeah, he called me a couple of times when Mom and Dad decided to go into W. And then he called me in the middle of the night drunk out of his mind a few weeks ago saying that the government was killing everybody and asking me to promise not to tell anybody where he is.”

  “Do you even know where he is, even if you wanted to tell somebody?” Karyn inquired.

  “No. See that’s exactly what I said to him. The only address I have for Keith is ‘somewhere near the Lincoln National Forest.’ That’s not exactly coordinates to his house, or cabin, or whatever he lives in now, but he is completely freaked out. He’s convinced that the government is conspiring against the whole country and that they are coming for all of us.”

  “Well, I hope he’s wrong,” Karyn paused again. “You don’t actually believe any of that, do you?”

  “I’m not sure what I believe, about anything,” Kris answered more honestly than usual. A week ago if she had been having this conversation she would have emphatically answered Karyn’s question with, “Of course not,” but she was still thinking about her lunch with Lena. “Have you ever heard of something called U.N. Agenda 21?”

  “No, never. What is it? Is that another one of Keith’s weird ideas?”

  “Maybe,” answered Kris and then, “I don’t know; I’m just not sure.” Karyn was looking at her with a very puzzled expression, but Kris picked up her sister’s hand and squeezed it as she often had when they were teenagers, and they watched the rest of the merry-go-round ride in silence.

  Later that evening after another dinner at the family-style buffet, the family sat out on bleachers as they watched the Fourth of July Fireworks display. Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless the U.S.A.” blared from the speakers as brightly-colored intricate displays exploded overhead. Seth was exhausted from a day of intense physical activity; before the fireworks started he had laid his small curly blond head in Kris’ lap and fallen fast asleep. Kris now sat gently stroking his sweaty, matted curls and flushed pink face with her right hand and holding Faith’s hand with her left. For this one moment the world was peaceful and wonderful, and the people she loved most were close beside her. She wished that she could capture this night in time and stay right there forever.

  On Sunday the family had one final breakfast together before Karyn and Jeff left to go home. When Kris said goodbye to Karyn she hugged her especially close. “I miss you and the kids so much, Kari. I wish that you were back here.”

  Karyn returned her sister’s hug, “We miss you too, but we will be back in a few months.” They kissed each other and then Karyn climbed into the passenger side of the minivan to head back to the motel before packing and going back to Dallas. Karyn had always hated living in Phoenix—she hated the intense Arizona heat and dryness. And, honestly, Kris knew that the family was better off in Dallas, but she still hated to see them go every time they left. When the van pulled away, she rode the train back to W and spent the rest of the day with her parents until she had to leave to catch the last train back to FE.

  The next morning at work Kris got a phone call from Credit Services of America. She was surprised—these calls used to be frequent before she was working, but now that she had her job and her payments were deducted every month, she had not heard from them for some time.

  “I am calling,” said the young woman on the other end of the line, “about your credit card ending in 9456.”

  “Yes, that is my card,” Kris answered wondering what all this was about. Had someone at the park stolen her information? Was she the victim of identity theft?

  “Our records indicate that you used the card this weekend at the Family Style Buffet and at Enchanted Island,” the young woman continued.

  “Yes that is also correct,” Kris responded.

  “You are currently $150.00 over your credit limit,” explained the caller, “I am calling today to set up a draft for the $150.00 to bring your account balance under the limit.”

  “Wait, I can’t be over the limit. I checked the balance carefully on Friday, and I kept track of my spending. I a
m sure that I am not over my limit.”

  “Yes,” continued the caller, “you are. Your purchases brought you within $5.00 of your credit limit. Then on Sunday we applied your new annual fee of $100.00. That put your account over the limit. Then we applied the $50.00 over the limit fee so your account is now $150.00 over the limit. We need to set up a payment for the $150.00 amount that you have exceeded your credit limit.”

  “I can’t set up a payment today,” Kris answered. “I am an employee of the federal government. Each month your payment is deducted directly from my pay and sent to you, but the rest of my pay is in the form of credits so I don’t have any way to pay you the additional funds right now. However, I have set up my deductions to pay more than the minimum due, so when your funds do go through in two weeks that will bring the account almost back under the limit.”

  “We cannot have your account over the limit. Federal regulations no longer allow us to keep cards open that are over the limit. Do you have a bank account that we can debit for the $150.00?”

  “Look, I don’t have a bank account you can draft,” now Kris was getting really frustrated. She was only over her limit because of fees the credit card company added to her account, and now they were demanding payment immediately. “I just explained to you—your payment is deducted from my check each month. The rest of my pay is not in cash; it is in credits. I can’t pay you anything else until the 15th when you are scheduled to be paid.”

  “I see, ma’am. Can you pay us the additional $150.00 on the 15th of this month?”

  “No, the payments are set up in advance, and they can only be changed at certain times of the year. I am not allowed to make any changes to my automatically scheduled payments until October.”

  “In that case, ma’am, I will be forced to close your account. Federal regulations require that if any credit card account is over the limit, the balance must be brought under the limit within ten business days or else the account must be closed. Do you understand?”

  “Fine. Yes, I understand,” Kris tried to think quickly what having her last credit card account closed would mean to her life. Actually, probably—nothing. Her parents’ birthdays and anniversary were over with; Karyn’s visit was over with. She would not need to make any other special purchases until Christmas, and by then she could open a new credit card. This was ridiculous, but it did not matter.

  The woman read a long disclosure about closing the account and after Kris agreed to it, the call ended. For the first time since she was twenty, Kris no longer had a credit card.

  Chapter 12

  The week before Labor Day Kris found a memo in her company email inbox—an invitation from Director Scott to attend an open house at his new home on Labor Day from 5:00 to 9:00 P.M. Kris was a little surprised that Director Scott had a home—after all didn’t all employees of the Federal Municipal Planning Division live in designated Federal Employee housing? But this address, 246 Monte Alegre, looked suspiciously as though it belonged to a single family residence. It also looked oddly familiar, as though Kris had some past association with it. She stared at the memo for a long time—she was sure that she knew the address, but she could not remember from where. Her old life had faded from memory so much it almost had taken on the qualities of a dream—perhaps even someone else’s dream.

  The party was mandatory for all FMPD employees. Kris liked parties; she hadn’t been to any sort of party since getting her new job. The problem was that she did not like Leonard Scott or Pat or anyone she worked with at FMPD. If she could bring a date it would not be so bad, but she had no one to ask as a date. Since getting her job and moving out of Nick’s townhouse, she had not attempted any new relationships. She now no longer even had people in her life who were just friends that she could ask to go with her.

  For the first time in months, Kris began to consider that maybe she needed to start thinking about the rest of her life. Until now, she had been focused on acclimating to her living conditions and learning her job. Now that she was settled into her new life, it might be time to start thinking about finding someone to share this new life with.

  The only man who immediately came to mind was Michael Linton. She had not talked to him since he had given Janine the do-not-call note, but she had seen him a number of times—in the cafeteria and in the community. During the hottest part of the summer several of the residents of FE and nearly all of the residents of W complained of heat exhaustion, so the doctors were very busy. She had no way of knowing whether he was as angry with her as most of the other residents of FE, but she would only be able to find out by talking to him. Maybe the party would provide an opportunity for her to do just that.

  Kris made an appointment on Saturday to have her hair done by Rosemarie. She even allowed her to put Henna on it—it would wash out immediately but Kris did not need to wash it between Saturday and Monday, and even though she hated Henna, the deeper color did make her look younger. She was letting her hair grow a little too—now that summer was ending she might be able to style it a little more easily. She even located “Nails” and set up a mani-pedi appointment which she scheduled directly after her hour of volunteer service in the community garden. She still had some nice perfume left over from better days, and her restricted diet and excessive exercise meant that she fit well into her clothes. She was determined that on Monday she was going to look as nice as she could and make an effort to get to know a little about this man who was apparently an enigma to the whole community.

  Monday at 4:30 found her standing at the gates of FE with a group of FE residents waiting for the shuttles which Scott had arranged to take everyone to his house. Michael was not there; Eva Brinks was. Eva and her bunch of comrades stood in a little group, appropriately to the left side of the gates. Kris stood off to the right. She was wearing a lime green silk halter dress and a pair of sand-colored high heeled sandals. Since the shuttle was coming for her, she did not have to worry about walking, so she had allowed herself the luxury of wearing great shoes. Now she realized that she had forgotten how sore great shoes made her feet.

  They waited about fifteen minutes for the shuttle before boarding in silence. Kris was not paying the other women any attention; she was going to a real house with real food and, hopefully, real air conditioning, and she was going to make an earnest effort to make a new friend. Nothing else mattered.

  As the shuttle exited the freeway and turned onto Monte Alegre, Kris again thought that this seemed incredibly familiar. She had been on this street before—several years before. She had sold houses on this street. The shuttle climbed to the top of the hill. All of the houses up here were large, stately, elegant homes on view lots. She had definitely been here before. The shuttle pulled to a stop in front of a two story Mediterranean-style home with a clay tile roof. The front doors were carved iron with glass—custom imports from Mexico. Now Kris knew why this address had seemed familiar—she had not only been in this house—she had actually represented the buyer who had purchased it years before. The property had originally been a second home for a fledgling starlet from Hollywood, but when her short marriage to another young star ended in scandal, she had listed the house for sale in a private “pocket” listing to be shown only by appointment. Kris knew the agent with the pocket listing; she periodically called him to see if he knew of anything truly special for well-qualified, discerning clients, and he had told her about this house. She had taken the couple she was representing to see it, and they had signed a contract the next week.

  As she stepped out of the shuttle she was stunned to see that the property was exactly the way she remembered. The landscaping was still beautiful; lemon and orange trees hanging with fruit greeted all visitors. The entrance of the home was stunning—it had been a major selling point for her buyers. From inside the front door the visitor looked onto a great expanse of golden cream marble floors with walls painted just one shade deeper. To the right was a graceful staircase with an ornate iron railing; to the left was the entrance to a
kitchen that would make a commercial chef proud. Every appliance was commercial grade, from the built-in Viking refrigerator to the enormous built-in freezer to the twelve-burner gas range with a warming oven beneath it. But if the visitor did not turn off in either of these directions, he found himself looking through a floor to ceiling window onto an Olympic-sized crystal blue infinity pool which appeared to drop off into eternity. And if the visitor ventured out onto the veranda to take a closer look at the pool, he would see from this vantage point a clear view of the entire Phoenix/Scottsdale region. At night, without vegetation to obstruct the view, the twinkling city lights appeared to stretch on forever like brightly-colored jewels on a black velvet gown. The pool was lighted at night; if the owner wished he could switch off all other outside lights except those inside the pool. This was the consummate house for entertaining. Every detail was perfect; no luxury had been omitted.

  The opulence, and the irony of this home belonging to Leonard Scott, Regional Director of the FMPD, might be lost on most of the employees of the FMPD, but not on Kris. What was a man who spent his days preaching the necessity of sustainability doing living in such a house? Every inch of it was at odds with the eco-friendly, austere lifestyle that FMPD forced upon its employees and the residents of its senior communities. Perhaps, more importantly, how did a mid-level civil servant such as Scott purchase a house such as this in the first place? This house had sold for $3,000,000 six years before when Kris had handled the buyer’s end of the purchase. Even with the overall declining market, a house of this quality in a neighborhood this exclusive would very likely hold its value. Scott was lucky to make $300,000 a year—the payments on this house would likely nearly equal his entire monthly salary. So how did he happen to be the proud new owner?

  Scott’s wife had greeted them at the door; she was the female counterpart of her husband, down to the same hard, cold lashless little eyes. She was proudly showing off her house, and Kris followed her on the tour, mainly so that she could have an opportunity to see it again. Yes, she remembered the upstairs master suite with his and hers bathrooms and the full sitting room with the balcony overlooking a view almost as great as the one from the pool. Melissa Scott continued to blather on about how wonderful this place was for Leonard’s nerves and how it helped him cope with the stress of his job—Kris gathered that they had moved in about a month before. They had been standing out on the balcony and were just re-entering the bedroom at 6:00 P.M. As they walked through the balcony doors Kris heard a grandfather clock chime in the sitting room adjacent to the bedroom. As the chime for the hour ended the musical strains of Brahms’ Lullaby filled the room. “That’s our new clock,” Melissa explained. “It does that every hour on the hour; I’m still getting used to it.”