He hugged me.
“I’m, I’m also scared, Janet,” he said as he held me. “I thought the CWP had all the answers. No one does. Fear, I guess, steps in when you don’t have all the answers, and you don’t have the comfort of knowing what comes next.”
He smelled of soap, as if he’d just taken a shower. His hands, still powerful, clasped me to his person. I kissed each of his dimples. I’d name them “Hi” and “Hello.”
We sat down.
“When I was a child,” he said, “my parents fought a lot. Money. Religion. My mom always said she wanted to leave my dad, but she was afraid of what people would say. So, she stayed, and she grew to hate those she thought had imprisoned her in her marriage. I kind of feel the same about Greta and me.”
“You once said your parents were happily married. You also said you had two siblings. Your sister is a surgeon with the CWP, and your brother is a publicist with the CWP.”
“You remember. They are happily married. They have this arrangement in which they live in the same house, but they have their own rooms, their own lives, their own friends, and so on. They’re a lot more cordial to each other than when we were kids.”
“Has anyone come to visit you?”
“Louise comes almost every day. We joined the CWP around the same time.”
“And your family won’t visit?”
“I’m an embarrassment to my family and to the organization.”
We stared at the lake.
“Do you want to hear a joke?” He asked.
“Sure.”
He sang the country and western song he’d told me about. His voice was poignant and vulnerable, like that of a boy who kept looking into the audience for his parents to encourage and tell him to keep going. He held my hands at the end of the song, and he kissed me.
“I think, I think I’m falling for you, Janet.”
I fidgeted in my seat for a while, looked out into the distance, and I told myself to be careful about what I said next.
“I really am,” he said.
I looked at him and smiled. “And that’s OK,” I responded, smiling. I bit my lower lip, and a part of me hoped that I could retract what I’d just said and erase its memory. “What comes next, Mike?” I asked, seeking some comfort about the uncertainty of the path ahead of us.
“I, I honestly don’t know.” He caressed my hands. “But we’ve got to be very careful. Louise told me that they have a video of you and me together.”
I felt too tired to respond. And they probably had a video of me entering their campus to see Mike. “And they probably have a video of me and you in this room right now,” I said.
“No. Louise called in a lot of favors to make sure that doesn’t happen. But Greta and Anton know you’re here. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know my place was bugged when you came over.”
I looked at the scar and the bruises. “A part of me wishes I could go back in time . . . Anyway, I’m here.”
Anton and Greta walked in and sat at the table.
You’d be forgiven for thinking that a permanent chill had descended upon the room. Mike took a deep breath, dropped his head, and placed his hands beneath the table. I moved closer to him.
“Janet,” Greta said as she stared at the swans, “Mike is undergoing reeducation. He’s doing OK. He’s our pilgrims’ favorite tour guide and our converts’ favorite teacher. He has a few more months of reeducation before he’s reinstalled. Scrimmage—”
“Thank you for Scrimmage,” Mike said.
I kept fantasizing that Greta would fall into the lake and drown.
“Scrimmage is about the Right Path, Janet—” Greta said.
“Thank you for the Right Path.”
“Mike,” Anton said, “will you disobey the Right Path again?”
“Thank you for the Right Path,” Mike responded.
I heard sirens in the distance.
Mike dropped his head and closed his eyes. He took another deep breath.
Anton smiled. “Our good friends are here.” Anton applauded. “President Tsotsi Kuraya and First Lady Gorguessa Kuraya are bringing us a capital gift. Truly capital. We couldn’t ask for a better gift from anyone. Visiting hours are over, Janet.”
Everyone in the room stood up.
Mike mouthed the words “Thank you” to me as Greta and Anton chatted briefly about something.
“Scrimmage,” Greta ordered Mike.
Mike recited Scrimmage on his own.
“The California Water Party needs your advice and help, Janet,” Mike said as he left the room. “Please join us.”
16
Restraint
President Wilhelmina Lesyer, who had been sworn in as President of the United States in January 2037, a few months earlier, made California her first stop on a nine-state tour, which included Arizona, Colorado, Kansas, Nevada, New Mexico, Oklahoma, Utah, and Texas; the states most affected by the drought.
President Lesyer was a formidable individual with an excellent work ethic.
She listened before she spoke, prepared extensively for all her meetings, and asked questions before she gave her opinion.
Within only three months of the commencement of her term of office, she was already affectionately known as “Minnie,” and her husband, Aahil Lesyer, was affectionately referred to as “Mr. Minnie.”
They were a charming couple.
Minnie was roughly the same height as Mr. Minnie, and Minnie’s favorite color was rose.
Rose lipstick, rose blush, rose suits and rose pumps.
I loved the look, but Mauru said he was getting a little tired of seeing the president look perpetually optimistic like she was “trapped in a pink nightmare. In these times, Jan, the last thing we need is an optimist-in-chief. How about a bit of realism?”
“Realism never made anyone hopeful,” I told Mauru. “Think of the expression ‘rose-colored glasses.’ Minnie understands that. As long as she stops all this discrimination going around, I think we’ll be OK.”
“What people don’t understand,” Mauru noted, “is that discrimination is the soul of our national story. The groups we discriminate against may change over time, but we have this visceral need to keep the discrimination going in this country. It’s just who we are. Otherwise, we would have stopped it a while ago. And a visit from the president isn’t going to change that—“
“Are you condoning it?”
“Of course, not.“
“Well, it sounds like you are. You actually sound like a fatalist,” I told Mauru. “Just because something’s always been there doesn’t make it inevitable.”
“What I’m saying is: when your country is as powerful and as wealthy as ours, you get used to being at the top of the heap. It also means there’s a whole of countries and people below you, and you’re trained to look down on them. With the oil, California’s now the richest state in the nation, and it’s discriminating. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Um, that’s not what you said. Whatever.”
I stared at the TV, and Mauru went to check on the kids.
“Madam President, First Person Aahil Lesyer,” Governor Trehoviak said as he welcomed them to Sacramento. “The California Water Party needs your advice and help. We’re glad you’ve joined us. The State of California has enacted some of the most important environmental legislation our nation has ever seen. Colorado, Madam President, stands in our way. Colorado must learn the following lesson: the State of California will not be bullied, stolen from, and it will not be denied its water. Colorado is about to learn about the long arm of the people of California.”
Minnie smiled and shook Governor Trehoviak’s hand.
“Governor Trehoviak and the great people of the great state of California, Aahil and I are just delighted to be here! As soon as I was inaugurated, I reached out to Governor Trehoviak to plan our visit. I am here to listen, observe, and learn. I also come with a message of restraint. I urge you, as I will in all the other states I visit, to ensure that t
he constitutional rights of all Americans in your state are upheld in these times. My administration—your government—has increased funding for the Federal Environmental Fund, which helps states like California in these times. We are also actively working to contain and eradicate HRE747, otherwise known as the hatred, and we are working to contain the spread of water-related diseases like dysentery, cholera, and our first case of guinea worm. Have faith. Have hope. And please remember—restraint.”
When asked by Linda Maywrot about the reported cases of the hatred in California and other states, President Lesyer said that there was reason to be hopeful that a cure would be forthcoming. The federal government stood ready and able to do everything necessary “to contain the contagion.”
“See,” I said to Mauru. “We have no reason to worry. President Lesyer’s on it.”
“Like she’s on the CWP buying Chief Justice Cathay and so many other government employees?”
“Which is why I’m not political,” I said to Mauru. “I just keep to myself, and I have a nice, quiet life.”
“Aha,” Mauru said skeptically.
At WS&X, I was proud of myself.
Diana Li, whom I’d met at Plumtree Redcliff, had just begun at WS&X. Plumtree Redcliff had hired three men, Dad told me, all of them with less experience than I, but all of them were hired as favors to clients of the firm.
I was all in now at WS&X. What other option did I have, with four kids, a mortgage, and a husband who was a high-school history teacher?
I’d just seen Mike up in Menlo Park, and although I was a little afraid of what came next, I was sailing on a cloud of serenity. I’d gotten my answers—at least some of them—and, while I had what must have been panic attacks every so often, I told myself to silently enjoy the memory of my time with Mike.
There were also other things on which to focus—our summer trip to Alaska, and just being with my kids.
At work, I tried to follow Diana’s advice. Keep your head down. Do the work well. Mind your own business.
Diana worked with two equity partners and some associates, and she brought me a card and some chocolate on the first day of her employment.
“Thank you, Janet,” she said. “I’m forever in your debt. I’ll even do you one better since you saved my daughter and me from the streets. I owe you two favors, which you can call in at any time. I mean that.”
“A pleasure, but you owe me nothing, Diana. This isn’t about owing anyone. It’s about helping others in these times.”
“I know,” Diana said, “but now I have healthcare for me and for my daughter’s asthma, and I can actually afford a coffee each morning. My offer of two favors will always stand. My late great-grandmother used to have a book in which she wrote the names of all the people who’d done her a good turn. And she’d try to pay them back double.”
The unmistakable smell of cigarette smoke hit my nostrils, and it filled my mouth, which made me gag. I wondered if someone around me was smoking.
“Can you smell that?” I asked Diana.
“What?”
“That,” I said. “Someone’s smoking.”
“Um, you’re hallucinating,” Hannah said as she walked up to my desk and introduced herself to Diana. “No cigarette smoke in here, Janet.”
Hannah and Diana talked briefly, and Diana excused herself; she was afraid that someone would come to her desk and find that she wasn’t there on her first day of work.
“She seems nice,” Hannah said. “Is she the one you recommended?”
I nodded.
“Have you seen Larry?” Hannah asked.
“Uh, he’s spending the day with Hudson,” I told Hannah. “Hudson has conjunctivitis and a cough. Larry’s afraid—”
“It’s the hatred,” Hannah said.
“What! Hudson has the hatred?”
“He’s afraid it’s the hatred,” Hannah said, correcting me.
“Right. It’s probably nothing at all. Hudson’s probably OK. Larry has all the resources in the world, and these things have a way of resolving themselves. They always do.”
The CWP had seated one of its people, Gertrude, at the free desk next to mine. Gertrude was married to Bruce (yet another of our CWP “legal consultants” at WS&X).
Gertrude didn’t acknowledge me, and she didn’t talk to me. She stood up from the adjacent desk, and she went to Andy’s office, where she discussed several Hoviak matters with him.
She then exited Andy’s office. Andy walked to the door of his office, and he gave me a look that suggested that things weren’t looking good.
I wasn’t going to be intimidated out of my job, so I continued chatting to Hannah.
Gertrude then chatted with Amandine, and she returned to the desk next to mine.
I ignored her, and Hannah greeted her. She returned Hannah’s greeting reluctantly.
I walked to the restroom, where I looked at myself in the mirror.
I thought of Mike. Should I divorce Mauru? A wave of panic rushed through me, and I felt my heart beat faster. I was getting ahead of myself, so I told myself to calm down. Mauru was mine, and so were our kids.
I returned to my desk.
Dad called and said that I should call Mom urgently. Her vote of no confidence on Pastor Jim had failed. The vote had failed because Helen had been secretly providing Pastor Jim and the church board members everything Mom had about Pastor Jim.
When the moment came to vote, Helen revealed her hand, and Mom, to her great surprise, was voted off the church board, which issued Mom a strong written reprimand. The board also stripped Mom of all the privileges she’d previously enjoyed, like forming committees for her pet projects.
“Are you sure, Dad, that it was Helen?” I asked. “They’ve been friends forever. They even went to Vegas together last year for that girls’ vacation.”
“This is about jealousy, Janet,” Dad said. “Today, your mom found out that Helen’s always envied what she had, and Helen wasn’t really her friend. Helen now has your mom’s place on the board—”
“But I thought they were both on the board—”
“No, Helen was never on the board,” Dad said. “Anyway, your mom’s really upset. She’d taken the day off work for that vote, and now she’s lost her standing in the church. Give her a call.”
I called Mom.
She didn’t answer.
When I talked to Mom a few hours later, she confirmed that it was Helen who’d betrayed her, and Helen had said that she’d done it for the good of the church. Helen apparently knew it was the right thing to do when she saw Jesus on the toast at my birthday party.
I asked Mom what I could do to help her.
“Bring my grandchildren to see me,” she said. “Can you do that for me?”
“Yes, Mom.”
The bad news continued. Just as I ended the call with Mom, Amandine and Andy asked Hannah and me to come to Amandine’s office.
“Close the door, please,” Amandine said after we entered.
Amandine and Andy stared at us.
Andy asked if anyone wanted a ginger ale. Neither Hannah nor I wanted one, but he proceeded to down an entire can of ginger ale in two gulps. He opened another can and did the same thing. He burped, and Amandine sighed. Andy told Amandine that they should just tell us.
Tell us what, though?
“You can’t be firing us,” Hannah blurted out before they revealed what they had to tell us. “We’ve done everything you’ve asked,” Hannah pleaded. “I’ve even submitted an application to convert.” Hannah looked at me. “I’m sorry, Janet. It’s purely a professional decision. It’s about my work. It’s nothing personal. I talked to my parents about it, and I’ve also discussed it with Larry, Amandine, and Andy. I still don’t believe half the things the CWP says, but it’s something I must do if I want to belong.”
I pretended not to hear Hannah. For the longest time, she’d been opposed to the CWP. She’d even made fun of Scrimmage—saying that she’d “never heard so many non-s
equiturs crammed into a single prayer” in her life. And now she was saying that she’d applied to convert? And I was the last one to know? What kind of friend was she, anyway? She’d betrayed the respect I had for her judgment and intelligence.
“But why are you firing us?” I asked Amandine and Andy. “WS&X is like my second home. I’ve been here since the beginning. I need this—”
“No one’s getting fired,” Andy said as he opened another can of ginger ale. “It’s Larry.”
“Hudson has the hatred,” Amandine said. “He’s in the quarantine unit.”
17
Peace Will Follow Pain
The night before the intervention, my late grandmother appeared in a dream.
It wasn’t unusual for her to do so—at least, not since I’d had recurrent nightmares about my predicament. In one dream, my grandmother had appeared in a Victorian manor, wearing a red kaftan and saffron slippers, holding a disintegrating apple, as the building around her was engulfed in flames.
“Fire sweeping,” she’d said.
In the most recent dream, the earth shook, and the skies turned a resolute gray as my grandmother walked down the street. (She was a slight woman with a broad smile, and she was wearing a red cotton dress and red flats).
“I’ve seen it all,” she said. “And I cannot stop this, Janet.”
I’m not sure I said anything in response, but I think I may have sneezed.
“The price of the familiar is boredom,” my grandmother said. “The price of the novel is pain.”
My grandmother was then consumed by the flames around her, and as she disappeared, her final words were, “Peace will follow pain.”
That was on a Friday night—Friday, April 22, 2039, to be exact.
On the Saturday morning, I woke up around 7:30 a.m., which was pretty late for me. I was usually up by about 5:30 a.m., or 5:45 a.m. at the latest.
I sat up, and I wondered why the condo was so quiet. I thought that I’d enjoy the silence. I took a nap for another thirty minutes, woke up, took my shower, got dressed, made the bed, and checked Jon’s and Nate’s room. They weren’t there, and their beds were unmade. Same for the twins.
Fire Sweeping: The California Ballot Killings Book II Page 20
