Antipodes

by Michele Bacon

  Why wasn’t the family discussing this every night?

  The big quakes had been years ago. Why had Lyttelton—and Christchurch’s business district—not yet risen from the ashes?

  Hamish worked in construction; why wasn’t he laser focused on rebuilding his city? Erin reserved her questions for dinner, when the whole family would be around the table.

  THIRTY-SIX

  After Pippa’s guitar lesson, Hank stayed for dinner.

  The previous hours had done little to douse Erin’s anger, so she charged ahead anyway. “I want to talk about the big earthquakes.”

  Felicity reached for Pippa, who had frozen with her fork halfway to her mouth. “You okay, Pippa?”

  Pippa ate her peas. “I’m okay, Mum.”

  Felicity said, “Some days we don’t talk about it.”

  “It’s okay, Mum.”

  Felicity straightened her flatware and leaned back. “They were devastating. It’s going to take us decades to rebuild, but it will never be the same. Half of the Central Business District is still closed.”

  Pippa pushed food around her plate but didn’t take another bite.

  “What about your business, Hamish?” Erin asked. “What if, instead of building houses, you started rebuilding the city?”

  “We’re trying.”

  “Right, but could you start working on the downtown? Everyone uses it. It’s the district that made Christchurch Christchurch. I saw photos of cute shopping districts. Could you rebuild the cathedral? Everyone is bummed about the cathedral.”

  Hamish dug into his dinner.

  Felicity laid her hand over Erin’s. “He’s working, Erin. Every day. There’s too much work to be done. They can’t rebuild the city yet. We have to break it down before we can really rebuild.”

  Hamish said, “To start with, houses are easier to repair. Neighborhood infrastructure wasn’t destroyed completely. Houses are further apart. Houses can be repaired. It’s easy to raze a house, haul away the debris, and start over. It’s a lot harder when you’re dealing with a whole city. I’m working all the time. Everyone is working all the time. Bringing people here from overseas to get the construction and infrastructure underway. But it takes time. A lot of time.”

  “In Wheaton, they built our new middle school—a huge school. Brick. In exactly one summer. You could work harder and make it happen.”

  “I don’t expect you to understand,” Hamish said.

  Erin raised her voice slightly. “It seems like everyone is complaining about what needs to be done, but no one is actually doing the work. I’ve read about this all afternoon. Everyone is sort of mellow and slow. Why aren’t you rebuilding today?”

  “We are,” Hank said. “That is literally what we do every day.”

  “You’re fixing cracks in houses,” Erin said. “That is such a small thing. Many things are more important than cracks.”

  No one moved until Hamish crossed his arms. “Tell me about this middle school built in a single summer.”

  Erin knew nothing about construction, but when her dad was on the school board, she heard how the school was planned and how it went up and how it worked. They had LEED silver certification, which meant the school was a leader in energy and environmental design. It was a big deal. “It’s one of the greenest schools in America.”

  Hamish said, “Yes. And where did they build it?”

  “On a huge plot two miles from downtown Wheaton.”

  “And did a firm design it?”

  “Yes. The best architects.”

  “That must have taken a long time to plan before they started building.”

  She hesitated. “Maybe.”

  “And then they had to procure the materials, which took some time.”

  “Probably.”

  “Imagine this.” Hamish leaned in. “First, you have to raze a building. Excavate it.”

  “The water and sewage and utilities are crap,” Hank said, “so you have to wait until every other building tied into its infrastructure is razed.”

  Hamish tagged back in. “You have to go to the central business district and fix the main stuff first, so when you build something it has water and electricity and whatnot.”

  He had a point.

  “And you have the plans for the building that used to stand there, but you can’t just build it again because you already know it can’t withstand a strong quake. So you have to wait for someone to design something that will. And then wait for the government to approve it. And then, because you live on a small island in the Pacific, you have to import building materials from other countries that have resources and facilities to manufacture brick and steel.”

  Hank said, “And then we build!”

  Oh.

  “And you’re talking about one building. Hundreds of buildings need to be rebuilt. We have to lift buildings that survived in order to pour new foundations.” Hank shook his head. “CBD—our Central Business District—is a mess.”

  Erin stared at her plate. She was an ass.

  “So I know you think we wouldn’t know shit from clay. And America is bigger and better and faster and stronger. But this traumatic thing happened to our country. We are working together to build it back up again. To make our children feel safe. To stay strong.”

  Erin stared at her hands as Hamish resumed his meal.

  Felicity said, “It’s not your fault, Erin.”

  Pippa said, “Yeah. You can’t move tectonic plates!”

  Felicity put one hand over Pippa’s and her other over Erin’s. “What I meant, Pippa, was that Erin couldn’t have known. She was trying to help.”

  Hamish was quiet. “We’re all trying to help. You’re making plans, fine. I’m working on houses. Fourteen thousand homes destroyed or condemned. The people trying to rebuild the city need roofs over their heads. I’m doing what I can. Don’t get me started on insurance companies standing in our way.”

  Erin whispered, “Sorry.”

  “You don’t know is all,” Hank said.

  There was more she didn’t know. Erin stayed up late reading about Christchurch, old and new. Economists estimated it would take fifty to a hundred years for the economy to recover. After the big quakes, New Zealand suffered a mass exodus. Some left because they had no power. Many homes were condemned, so families couldn’t return. The resulting housing shortage caused prices to soar, so many families couldn’t afford to return.

  Erin clicked back through Good-Time Girl’s history. She’d been too young to post during the earthquakes, but two years ago, she’d returned to Christchurch after years away. She posted photos of her old, now-demolished house in Sumner Beach and expressed gratitude for family friends who’d housed her family.

  Obviously, those weren’t good times.

  One summery day, earthquakes had rattled generations of kiwis, and they’d never be the same.

  Erin’s own problems seemed a bit smaller.

  She wanted to tell Good-Time Girl she was sorry about her city, but that definitely seemed like stalking. Instead, she read through Marama’s and Jade’s recent posts, liking and responding where appropriate.

  This tiny city was resilient. This community was resilient. This family was resilient. She wanted to wrap them all up in love.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Wednesday morning, Erin called Claire ten minutes before she left for Nationals. Claire raved about the revised iteration of Erin’s essay.

  “It’s fabulous, Mom. It just doesn’t sound like me.”

  Claire huffed. “It sounds like a Columbia student. This woman has a great track record of Ivy League acceptances. Did you look at her website?”

  “I did,” she lied.

  “Well, I think the essay is a winner. Tweak it if you want, but then I need to see it again. And if everything goes well this weekend, we can make that the focus.”

  Felicity knocked on Erin’s door. “Percy’s here.”

  “Thanks, Felicity,” Erin said.

  “How�
��s everything in that tiny house?” Claire asked. “Still sharing a room?”

  Erin wished she’d never mentioned that. “I am. And it’s not that bad. We’re all together a lot. We eat dinner together every night. They call it tea. Some nights we all do our own thing together—homework or reading for Pippa and me, a project for Felicity, or cards for her and Hamish.”

  “If I had the luxury of an easy job, I would have a lot more leisure time, too. It’s a trade-off, Erin. They have a slow, small life. You’ll notice none of them are eyeing a championship medal.”

  “The family is pretty great, actually, even without medals.” Smiling, she nodded to herself.

  “Do not start talking that way. Only people who can’t get medals are blasé without them. You’re better than that. You can win. Go out and do it.”

  “I need to go, Mom. My coach is here.”

  “Call me as soon as you know anything, okay?”

  “Okay, Mom. Say hi to Dad for me.”

  “Okay. Swim fast.”

  The line went dead. Swim fast. As if she’d swim any other way.

  Erin took her bags to the kitchen, which was warming quickly in spring’s morning sun. “Christchurch is thawing out.”

  “Yes,” Felicity said. “Winter is tough, but she’ll be right here soon.” She confirmed the time and location of Erin’s first race in Queenstown.

  “You’re really coming?” Erin said.

  “Of course I am. Swimming is important to you.”

  “But it’s in Queenstown. Hours and hours away for a few short races.”

  “I’m well aware of where Queenstown is. I already have a flight. I am happy to come.”

  Lucky Felicity was flying to Queenstown. Erin had to endure an eight-hour road trip. Percy had rented a people mover, the kiwi word for minivan, to drive the four girls and Marama’s mom to the south end of the South Island. Erin scored the middle row, which she hoped would spare her the back seat’s added nausea.

  On the road, Percy and Marama’s mom talked about rugby for an entire hour. Ruby and Gemma traded music in the backseat, and Marama snoozed next to Erin, whose earbuds courted a headache.

  New Zealand was waking up to spring. Lush flora and fauna grew everywhere: splashes of purple and pink spotted green hills, as mountains loomed in the distance. Erin turned off her music and focused on whichever mountain was furthest away.

  The highway was a two-lane road with a higher speed limit, and Erin appreciated signs limiting drivers to 100 kilometers per hour. Driving 100 felt cool, even if it was only 60 miles per hour.

  About an hour and a half in, they circumvented an enormous, calm lake surrounded by mountains. A few inches above the water, a layer of fog suggested mystery and intrique.

  This was what Mrs. Carey had meant when she taught Erin the word sublime in sixth grade. Mrs. Carey claimed a sublime scene would make Erin feel something.

  She felt compelled. Calm.

  Michigan wasn’t sublime, but Erin’s annual retreat into the U.P. had felt like this. Every summer, she left everything behind—her friends, her classes, her expectations—for ten glorious weeks.

  This time, she’d brought her expectations with her.

  A half hour later, they passed a fogless lake with no evidence of humans. No houses, just nature, hanging out, being gorgeous.

  Erin wished they could pause here, but Percy plugged southward to Queenstown, driving through one sublime scene, and rounding a mountain to spy another. New Zealand must be the most densely sublime country in the world.

  And, determined to travel without vomiting, Erin kept her focus wholly outside the minivan. She saw it all.

  Four hours in, traffic came to an abrupt halt. Percy cracked the windows and cut the engine.

  “Why are we stopped?” Erin asked.

  “No idea,” Percy said. “People’ll clear out, I’m sure.”

  No one else seemed remotely concerned. Traffic resumed ten minutes later but remained slow and deliberate until they passed a herd of cattle. On the road. Being herded by two dogs.

  A hundred cattle had halted highway traffic, and no one batted an eye. Herd in the road was a totally normal thing.

  Erin started laughing and couldn’t stop.

  “All right there, Erin?” Ruby shouted.

  Marama’s mom turned to stare as Percy studied Erin in the rearview mirror.

  Erin tried to stifle herself but chortled loudly. “Cows in the road!”

  “Herds change pastures so they don’t run out of grass,” Percy said.

  “I’m sure, it’s just …”

  Erin had seen people in movies so high they couldn’t control their laughter; this felt exactly like that. It took her several minutes to breathe normally.

  “You all right?” Percy said.

  She giggled a little. “It’s just absurd. We sat in traffic—no one blaring their horns or swearing or anything—and then resumed as though we hadn’t just wasted fifteen minutes while a herd of cattle walked down the road.”

  “What’s fifteen minutes?” Percy said. “No rush.”

  “That’s the thing. No one is in any rush. You’re all so polite.”

  Marama’s mom said, “Does no good to rush. Cattle take as long as they take. Sounding the horn would just make everyone angry.”

  Erin stared, blankly. “But they’re wasting your time.”

  “Sometimes we wait on their cows. Sometimes they wait on ours.”

  Marama’s mom was almost prophetic.

  Erin was going 100 in a people mover with five people she’d met a few weeks prior, driving south through mountains and around lakes in an island country in the middle of nowhere on her way to a swim meet.

  A herd of cattle had detained their drive southward, toward colder weather. And it was spring in September. Everything was backward and upside-down. Call it a break or a fermata or a holiday or a sabbatical, but she was definitely out of Wheaton.

  And while she’d been living in Chicago’s flat western suburbs, while she’d been killing herself in the pool and racking up contiguous days of cello practice and engaging in intensive study in everything under the sun, this gorgeous country was literally under the sun.

  And she’d been missing it.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Erin congratulated herself for making it to lunch without vomiting. She took a few nibbles at the picnic table on the side of the road—next to a lake, naturally—before returning to the van.

  Four hours later, they rounded a mountain to find another great lake.

  “Hello, Wakatipu!” Marama’s mom said.

  Lake Wakatipu didn’t rival Lake Michigan’s size, but nestled among ragged mountains, it was awesome, in the truest sense of the word. Slanted rows of houses, each with a birds-eye view of the lake, covered the mountains.

  Queenstown was a quaint mountain village on an almost-great lake. Erin’s heart was full to bursting.

  Just as the sun was setting, Percy steered away from Lake Wakatipu. Off the major thoroughfare, they began a steep ascent to Summer’s aunt’s house. Summer’s aunt had refused to rent out the house during national championships for three years, just in case Summer needed it.

  This year, Summer wasn’t with them, but her aunt’s offer stood, of course.

  Percy missed the turnoff by a few meters and reversed down the hill to try again. After the turnoff, they faced a steep descent and three switchbacks, one of which required a five-point turn. Erin thought they were lost until, two minutes later, Percy stopped in front of a plain wooden house.

  In the fresh air at last, Erin walked around the house to investigate. Motorboats zipped through the water and around a lush green park jutting into the lake. Shops and restaurants lined much of the shore, beckoning visitors.

  The house was propped up on stilts. Erin gazed uphill to see the entire neighborhood was perched on similar four-by-fours.

  Only a few wooden posts prevented them from sliding down the side of this rather substantial mountain
.

  Holy cow.

  North Carolina propped houses to keep them safer in hurricanes, but North Carolina wasn’t in the Ring of Fire. In the last two weeks, Erin had watched too many YouTube videos and seen too many photos of houses sliding into the sea.

  Everyone else piled into the house.

  From the door, Marama said, “All right then, Erin?”

  “Are you sure it’s safe?”

  “I promise you it’s safe.” Marama reached for Erin’s hand.

  Reluctant, Erin took it and tiptoed through the front door.

  Inside, she could almost forget they were on stilts. The entire western wall was floor-to-ceiling windows, featuring a dazzling scene of water and boats and houses all turning on their lights. The sun had disappeared beyond the mountains, leaving a soft pink sky with streaks of blues and purples and whites.

  There’s a reason they’re called picture windows, Erin realized.

  “Check out the fittings!” Ruby flung herself on the smaller of two white leather sofas.

  The furniture and upscale decor put this house on a different level than anything Erin had seen in Christchurch.

  “What say we stay in for the weekend?” Ruby’s outstretched arms claimed the sofa and she propped her feet on the table. “Order in some fish and chippies. Live the life!”

  Jade sat on the adjacent sofa. “Can you imagine? Some people live like this all the time.”

  Erin said nothing about her own furniture, nor her mother’s decorator.

  “My uncle lives in Auckland,” Gemma said. “His husband claims it’s twice the price, half the view.”

  “Where’s Auckland?” Erin asked.

  “North part of the North Island. It’s quite crowded: maybe a million and a half people.”

  Erin nodded, but Chicago dwarfed Auckland. Since researching the quakes, she was keenly interested in size and population comparisons. “My town is tiny, but we’re close to Chicago—almost three million people. The whole Chicago metro area—suburbs and all—is nearly ten million.”

  “Is that more than New Zealand?” Ruby asked.

  “New Zealand is nearly five million,” Erin said. “I only know that because I looked it up a few weeks ago.”