“Um, those aren’t great odds.”
“It depends on whether you’re a glass half-full or half-empty kind of person,” he said.
Right. My glass had emptied months ago. But I didn’t want to bring that up.
“How’s the weather?” I asked, making him laugh.
We talked until his phone battery ran low.
“Dad, don’t go—”
“Sorry,” he said. And then the line went dead.
Not long after, TK started to fuss.
“Is it your bedtime soon? It looks like you’re sleeping here tonight. You need a crib, buddy. Who would have an extra crib?”
I mentally ran through the options. Other neighbors with babies? They would be using their own cribs. Preschools? No. Day care centers?
Of course! Ethan’s mother ran a day care center, Portico Pals, on Main Street. She had always treated me kindly. Forget only asking for the crib. Maybe she could take TK! Why didn’t I think of that sooner?
Excited, I grabbed my phone. Ethan answered on the second ring.
“Lil, hey. What’s up?”
He sounded happy to hear from me, so I launched right in. “I need a favor.”
“Oh.” His voice deflated. “What is it?”
As if on cue, TK started to cry.
“What’s that noise? It sounds like a baby.”
“That would be the favor.” I patted TK on the back, trying to soothe him as I paced around the house.
“Uh oh.”
“Hear me out. The baby’s parents died from the flu and I’m taking care of him until I can find his relatives. But this is turning into more than a one-day thing. Do you think your mom could help?”
“I don’t know. She had to close down the day care for now. Parents worried their kids would catch the flu there. Then my aunt and uncle got sick, so my four cousins are coming to stay with us.”
“But you could ask her about one more, right? Please?”
“It’s crazy here. She’s not going to take in some stranger’s potentially ill baby,” he said.
Any chance for help slipped through my fingers. “But I don’t have anywhere for TK to even sleep and—”
“Lil, I can’t help you. You don’t want me as a boyfriend anymore. I get it. You haven’t talked to me since you blew off our date. The roses wilted and everything. So now you call because you need something? I’m not going to be your friend, hold your hand when things go wrong, still hope you’ll change your mind about me. I’m sorry.”
TK wailed. I could barely speak over his cries.
“Please—”
“Good luck.”
I stared out at our darkened backyard, straining to spot illuminated windows in the neighborhood. Those I could find seemed as distant as stars, light years away. The crooked tree limbs looked eerie under the moon. I turned on our floodlight to dispel the shadows that slithered across the lawn. Tears came faster than I could wipe them away. There was no one around to help.
CHAPTER 14
“We live for sh*t like this,” said one professional looter. “It’s really just taking advantage of an opportunity, kind of like finders-keepers. If people leave their valuables behind, their mistake is our profit.”
—Blue Flu interview, anonymous criminal
What Ethan had said about us was true. It wasn’t like we were actual friends, like he was someone I could count on to help. We hadn’t spoken since Megs died. And he mentioned flowers. I felt a tinge of regret, even though it would have taken more than roses to change my mind about our relationship. Mr. B was the catalyst that caused us to drift apart, but truthfully, once it ended, I didn’t miss Ethan as much as I should have. There was no pining away for him, no sad reminiscing about what might have been. We were together then suddenly we weren’t. Despite the mild jealously when he dated Cassandra, my life continued just fine without him.
I sighed, rocking TK in my arms. Megs had been right. I couldn’t turn back time. I could never undo what had happened to me.
“You would have liked Megs,” I told TK. “And my mom and dad will adore you. They can be annoying sometimes, but you’ll get used to them. Of course, you’ll be with your own family soon.”
TK blinked his sweet baby eyes.
“Let’s check my phone again, OK?”
Finally! Mom had texted.
Mom: hi lily
Mom: it’s mom again
Mom: can’t get through on the phone
Mom: hope this works
Mom: tell me if you get this
Mom: flights are a mess
Mom: trying to take one to london
Mom: at least i’d be that much closer to home
Mom: portico was profiled on news along with a few other towns
Mom: is it that dangerous there?
Mom: hard to tell how bad the flu is here
Mom: airport workers wear masks
Mom: i’ve been trying to read to pass the time
Mom: but i am too worried to focus on much
Mom: let me know you are safe
Mom: need to hear from you
Mom: ox
Mom: supposed to be hugs and kisses not farm animal
Cradling TK, I typed:
Me: I’m not sick but things r bad here. I’m taking care of the Goodwins’ baby. Mr & Mrs Goodwin died.
Me: Feeling anxious. Come home soon!
I rocked TK for awhile, hoping she’d text back right away. But there was no reply.
When I finally checked the news again. Morris County had close to eighteen hundred people ill, with nearly one hundred fatalities.
Damn.
New Jersey’s governor compared the devastation to Hurricane Sandy and asked all Western states to send supplies and medical personnel to help with the crisis. One governor replied, “Sandy wasn’t contagious. We need to save our resources for the inevitable spread across America.”
On a local level, towns debated whether the now limited supply of masks and antiviral medicines should be given to patients or to first responders. Firemen were being asked to remove bodies, but obviously feared becoming infected. “This is a crazy bunch of sh*t,” one captain said with his curse bleeped. Then he coughed into the microphone.
Worries circled in my brain like buzzards. The town’s infrastructure had clearly crumbled. There were hotlines to report the overwhelming deaths. Supplies were limited. Mom and Dad were far away, and for all I knew, they could be battling the flu right now. TK could be a baby influenza bomb, poised to detonate in my home.
I knew it would take me a long time to fall asleep.
I made a bed on the floor with couch cushions as barriers so TK couldn’t crawl away. Afraid to leave him, and afraid to be alone, I snuggled next to him in a pile of blankets on the rug.
Waking up next to TK in the morning surprised me, as if my sleeping mind had momentarily erased yesterday’s drama. But there he was, all cute and needy. I did a quick health inventory. My stomach pains were gone and he seemed fever-free, and hungry.
Baby food moved up on my list of concerns. I realized we needed to visit his house again in search of more supplies. Dad’s talk about being careful weighed on me, but I didn’t have much choice with TK as my new roommate.
After breakfast, I braced myself for the task ahead. If only Megs was around to keep me brave as I hurried down the silent block past piles of accumulating trash.
TK and I reached the Goodwins’ house to find the front door ajar. Despite my call to the hotline, I doubted they took care of Mrs. Goodwin’s body that quickly. Had I left it open? Holding the storm door with one arm, I used the other to move the stroller through the doorway.
“Hello?”
I stepped inside and gasped. Their house had been looted.
It looked like a fast and messy job. Cabinets were left open. Tupperware littered the floor. A broken bag of rice was spilled across the kitchen tile.
“It’s all right, baby,” I whispered in a quivering voice, even though T
K hadn’t made a sound. I wasn’t ready for a confrontation with thieves, especially with a baby to protect.
I took a few cautious steps forward, ready to bolt at the first noise. “Hello? Anyone here?” I listened, glancing around the kitchen. The rice trail went toward the rear door, so the looters were presumably gone, I hoped.
Then a harsh male laugh broke the silence—it was coming from the backyard.
With no time to unstrap TK, I shoved the stroller past his room, past the body. I imagined the decay, the smell, the blueness of her skin. It made my knees rubbery.
I couldn’t fall apart now, not without a place to hide.
A bedroom beckoned from the end of the hall and I aimed for the beige carpet, the green walls. Once inside what must have been the master bedroom, I locked the door behind us.
The voices outside were louder now, talking about meds, food, and “the going rate.” Their laughter had a sharp edge to it, like a serrated knife.
I shivered. These men were only a few yards away.
As if sensing trouble, TK squirmed, flailing his arms in what I recognized as the precursor to a meltdown.
I unbuckled, lifted, rocked him in one smooth motion. “Shh, baby. Shh.”
He whimpered, reached his arms toward a playpen near the bed.
“OK, but no crying,” I whispered, more a wish than an instruction. I plopped him into the playpen with some toys, banging my shin in the process.
“Ow—” Too late, my hand flew to my mouth to muffle the cry.
“Did you hear that?” one of the looters asked in a gruff voice.
“We were just in there. The house is empty.”
“I dunno. It sounded like a girl.”
“Wishful thinking. You’re just lonely.”
I gripped the edge of the playpen to steady myself, waiting for the thieves to crash through the door. I was sure my heart thudded loud enough for them to hear.
Finally, the voices drifted farther away, but I was afraid to shift close enough to the window to look. TK fussed until I stacked soft plastic blocks in the playpen to quiet him. After several towers were created and destroyed, I found the courage to move. No noise came from outside and a peek through the window confirmed they were gone.
“Be right back.” I piled some cheerios from the diaper bag into the playpen for TK.
Still afraid, I searched the house as if it were on fire. A quick scan showed that most of the regular food was taken, but I grabbed some more baby food from the floor in the pantry behind extra paper towels. I opened and closed cabinets at lightning speed. In the bathroom, nothing remained in the medicine cabinet. I found extra diapers in a drawer and managed to stuff them into the bottom of the stroller with still-shaky hands.
I needed to get out of there, back to the safety of home, but the lack of a crib was still a major issue.
Wait. During my rush, I missed the answer right in front of me. The playpen was portable and would give TK a place to sleep. I moved him to the stroller. After three tries, I managed to fold up the playpen.
Transporting it presented a different problem. It didn’t fit under the stroller. After checking that no one lingered outside, I tried carrying the playpen under my arm while pushing TK. I could only make it to the street before putting it down again. It would get ruined if I dragged it. I wanted to stomp my feet in frustration. Why was this so hard?
Then I remembered a baby carrier by the front door. I brought TK back inside, strapped him into it, then buckled the contraption over my chest, checking to make sure he wouldn’t fall out.
Wow, was he heavy. He still had a fistful of cheerios, which he promptly dropped down the front of my shirt.
“Ack!”
TK looked at me. “Ba ba ba.”
“Silly boy. Is that baby talk for totally gross?”
He smiled, showing four little teeth.
I propped the playpen on the stroller seat and began pushing his new bed. After the loud voices of the looters, the quiet street seemed even more unnerving. Every scrape meant potential danger, every breeze a warning. I locked the door behind me when we finally made it home.
Back in my house, I stayed on high alert, speaking to TK in whispers as I moved from window to window, checking the locks. Outside, the garbage announced that our house was occupied by living, trash-making people. Maybe looters wanted vacant homes, so they could steal without a hassle. But who knew how lawless people actually thought? I’d rather not advertise that I was home.
With TK on my hip, I glanced outside for menacing strangers. The coast was clear. At the curb, I checked the mailbox. A folded piece of loose leaf paper sat alone in the otherwise empty box. So the mail service had stopped as well as the garbage pickup. That wasn’t a good sign.
I kept the piece of paper out of TK’s grasp as I carried the trash can up the driveway. Normally, a flier in the mailbox meant an upcoming neighborhood block party or announced a new restaurant in town. But this looked like the same paper I’d write my biology notes on. Did someone from school leave me a letter? The anticipation was a splash of color in the grayness of my day. I left the unopened note in the kitchen, waiting for me.
Dad and I texted back and forth several times and there were a few more messages from Mom. I fed TK jarred peas for lunch, then planned our schedule for the rest of the day, as if eating at regular times could stop the world from falling apart. After my brief adventure to the curb, I couldn’t get anything else done. TK clung to me, so that even putting him down for my shower became tricky.
His need for constant attention started to wear on me. I considered nicknaming him Leech but pushed the thought out of my head. He wasn’t an orphan by choice. None of this was his fault.
Still, I needed my babysitting days to end soon. Contacting his family hadn’t turned up any results. I finally called Family Services. A recorded message told me the office was understaffed and to call the police if I suspected child endangerment. The police had already said TK should stay with me. Day care facilities, like those run by Ethan’s mom, had closed. I thought about my parents’ friends, my preschool teacher, a lady at the church who ran the family events. I needed someone to help care for TK. But who was healthy enough to help? Then it dawned on me.
The elderly.
The flu skipped most senior citizens. And grandparents loved babies, right? I had to find a way to reach out to the older people in town. There was Reggie. And the Senior Center. Maybe someone there could help us.
That might relieve my immediate situation, but at the back of my mind was a niggling thought that wouldn’t go away: what if TK wasn’t the only orphaned baby? What if there were hundreds of wailing kids behind the closed doors of Portico? The babies could be healthy, like TK, with no one to care for them. Could the seniors help on a larger scale?
After a crying protest, TK finally napped in the playpen—a huge victory. When Reggie called to check on me, I explained my idea.
“If the flu is affecting the parents, then there are going to be babies who need to be cared for, at least temporarily. Right now it’s just TK, but what if there are lots of healthy little kids out there and the parents are hospitalized, or worse? They can’t survive alone. And with looters breaking in . . .”
“I see what you mean,” he said.
“Maybe we can set up a mini day care at the Senior Center? People could take shifts watching the children so it’s not too much of a burden. And if the kids could sleep there, we’d know they’re safe. TK could be a trial run.”
“I’m going there for dinner,” Reggie said. “I’ll talk to my friends tonight. In the mean time, keep taking good care of the little fella.”
At the prospect of solving my TK dilemma, I felt a familiar stir of excitement for the first time in months. It’s what I used to do for the Teen Humanitarian Club at school. Identify a community problem, then try to make a difference. I started making lists. We would need cribs and more baby supplies. We’d need a way to find the children who needed help
and a system to track who was where at what time.
Exhilarated, I decided to read the mysterious note from the mailbox while TK continued his nap. I settled on the couch with my legs tucked under me and opened it slowly, savoring the suspense.
My hand flew to my chest. I recognized the scrawled handwriting. It had appeared at the top of my essays in phrases like, “Great metaphor,” “Need more detail here,” and “Nice descriptive language.”
The note was from Mr. B.
Lilianna,
I need to see you, to talk to you, soon. Just for a few minutes. You can trust me.
He hadn’t bothered to sign it, but he had scribbled his phone number across the bottom, as if I would actually call. I crumpled the paper into a tight ball, squeezing it with my fist before hurling it across the room. Trust. What the hell did he know about trust? Absolutely nothing. He represented the antithesis of the word. Evil incarnate dressed as a kind English teacher.
Nervous, I checked each window and door in the house again to ensure everything was locked. It didn’t make me feel much better. I thought about tearing the note to bits, but shoved it in a desk drawer in case I needed evidence. Evidence of what, I didn’t know. My brain wasn’t thinking logically. I desperately wanted to smoke or to run through the streets screaming. The anger whipped around me with no place to go.
By the time TK woke up, serious stir-craziness had set in. It was time for us to venture out again, but we needed some form of protection. The garage yielded a baseball bat and a whistle. I tucked them into his stroller basket, feeling slightly ridiculous but a little safer. My plan was to stay fairly close to home. Pushing TK in the stroller, I sang the alphabet song to him.
“ABCDEFG, HIJKLMNOP, QRS . . .”
Nervous, I stopped singing. Like before, the streets lacked the usual people walking or driving. What if we were the sole human beings left on our block? What if all my neighbors had left town or worse, died?
Out of habit, I started in the direction of Megs’s house. I thought about going to her room and smelling her favorite perfume, the one like honeysuckles. But I couldn’t face her absence yet. Turning the stroller around, I headed in the opposite direction.
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